


Glow

by alec



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (2010), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Homophobia, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Please be gentle, Racism, Rating May Change, Slow Build, reverse pn!au, so uh this is my first multi-chapter fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:06:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alec/pseuds/alec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's somewhat rare to happen, but for the few lucky enough, when you meet your soulmate, your body reacts, letting off a red glow mirrored in them.</p>
<p>Reverse Punk/Nerd HiJack AU (Punk!Hiccup and Nerd!Jack).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jackson Overland was going to be late to school again. Of course, this wasn't his greatest problem; he was, after all, already at school. Jackson was more concerned with the brick wall that was digging into his back and the pounding on the back of his head that throbbed painfully. Two fists were twisted into his plaid shirt aggressively, and the boy felt a bit light on his feet. He was being lifted ever so slightly off the ground.

"What the fuck did you think you were doing, _faggot_? Fucking piece of faggot trash," spat the muscular boy in front of him. Jeremy Reinman was the head of the men's water polo team, and was somewhat notorious around the school. Short-cropped black hair, angular jaw, rough stubble; the boy had an attractive face, when it wasn't twisted into an angry expression. _Which_ was very rare. The captain had an interesting interpretation of "team spirit," which apparently didn't apply to those outside of his team, and a violent temper on top of that. Which was directed now at the seemingly frail Jackson.

"Fucking staring at Thompson, were you?" Jeremy growled, tilting his head back to nod toward the all-but-fully-grown man to his right who _clearly didn't need someone else defending him oh my god_. There were two more guys — one of them really short — to Jeremy's left, but Jackson didn't know either of them by name.

Jackson's eyes were wide, because it was clear that he wasn't going to get out of this without some more pain. The boys at this school were smart; they never hit his face, where the teachers would be able to spot something. Jackson's chest and legs, however, were another story, and he was still peppered with bruises that were as painful to look at as they had been to receive. Jackson shook his head.

"N-no I wasn't," he replied. He didn't expect that to be enough to convince them, but it was a start, at least. It was partially true, though not in the spirit of the question. He had been staring, just not at Thompson alone; a team of toned, attractive boys covered in water getting out of a pool, toweling off. It had caught his eye from the windowed balcony as he was walking to his locker. He had expected his depravity to be secret, but apparently one of them had felt his eyes and they tracked him down. "I was just l-looking in, and I saw you guys, and it was just for a second."

"Bullshit, nerd. I'm not fucking stupid. You aren't going to fucking stare at my fucking team," Jeremy accentuated with spittle. It seemed like he had more to say, but after an abrupt pause, threw Jackson to the ground in front of the wall.

"Faggot piece of trash," growled Jeremy before he kicked Jackson in the stomach. The kick was rough, but the crashing of Jackson's spine against the brick wall was more painful still. Jackson instinctively bent his head forward to tuck against his chest, while another guy — Thompson, apparently — kicked behind his knees to push him away from the wall.

"Don't you ever," Jeremy hissed, kicking Jackson sharply on his side, while the short boy kicked his left shoulder _hard_.

"Stare at my team." A blow directly to Jackson's pectoral, right on top of a bruise that was still itself pretty fresh, temporarily blinding Jackson with pain.

"Again," Jeremy finished, a kick to the crotch, causing Jackson to black out in the stairwell.

* * *

Jackson awoke in the nurse's office, lying on one of the beds. The pillow and bed were rough plastic vinyl, and there was a glorified curtain drawn around the enclosure, blocking out the light from the rest of the room. Voices trickled in from beyond the draw, but one of them was too hushed to hear, and the other spoke of nothing consequential to Jackson.

Everything hurt, but this wasn't new to Jackson. He'd been dealing with this for a year now. Junior high had been a horrible time, between the name-calling and the bullying that happened there. But high school was so much worse. His best friend, Merida, had moved back to Scotland, leaving Jackson alone to start a new school without a best friend. And to make matters worse, the bullying only heightened. It hadn't been physical in junior high, at least.

He wasn't sure how long he had been out, and Jackson found himself realizing he didn't care. The desire he might have had to go to class had died the moment he'd been stalked to that corner of the school and beaten within what felt like an inch of his life. And so Jackson just laid there, wishing he could go back to sleep; but it didn't feel comfortable enough to fall asleep, and the two nurses' chatter kept him just barely on this side of awake.

It hurt immensely to turn on his side, but finally, Jackson was able to roll over and find his backpack, which to his dismay was placed by the end of the bed. Sitting up as slowly as gravity and his injuries would let him, Jackson crawled to reach for the bag, trying to make as little noise as possible so that the nurses would think he was still asleep.

Grabbing his phone from the front pocket of his backpack, Jackson returned to his sleeping position, at length deciding to turn on the phone. The bright light blinded the boy momentarily, greeting him with the time: 10:07. After a moment of calculation, Jackson determined that was roughly in the middle of third period. Inwardly groaning, he unlocked the phone, opening to the middle of the novel he had been skimming through. Closing that program, he smiled in comfort upon seeing his and Merida's smiling faces. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening up his messages and writing out a text.

_'... It happened agai.N.'_

Pressing send, Jackson stared at his phone for a moment, knowing that there wasn't going to be a response back — she was probably just out of classes herself — but wishing that there could have been.

Ignoring the pain, Jackson draped his forearm over his eyes, blocking out the light, and waited. After what seemed like an eternity of meaningless banter and intermittent typing from beyond the curtain, the bell rang, signalling the end of classes and Jackson's self-imposed stay. Getting up, he grabbed his bag and pushed the curtain aside.

The nurses stopped talking; their desks were arranged to face each other, and the older nurse with greying hair, whose back was to Jackson, turned around. Her face was neutral, and after a moment, she turned back to her desk, feigning work. Jackson ignored her and walked over to the other woman.

Green eyes met Jackson's blue, and softened. "Jack..." she began, motherly, letting her voice trail off.

"Hi, Nurse Erinn. I'm feeling better now, and I'm ready to go back to class," Jackson responded, forcing a smile. It was apparent from the look on the nurse's face that she believed, at best, only half of what he had said.

She pushed the discharge clipboard over to Jackson, pointing to the half-empty line for Jackson to fill in. The boy bent over slowly and grabbed the pen.

"Jack," the nurse began while Jackson filled out the paper. "You need to tell us who is doing this. We can help you."

Jackson didn't have anything to say as he checked the clock for the current time.

"It's the first day of a new semester, Jack. You can't let this keep happening," she pleaded.

Jackson stood up, his spine protesting at being stretched. He met Erinn's eyes for a moment before looking down. He heard her sigh. The school bell rang again.

"That was the bell for fourth period."

Jackson looked up again, nodded, and left the office, feeling the stare on his back.

* * *

_'wth happened?? Are you ok??'_

_'I think so...'_

_'How bad was it? Can you get on Skype?'_

_'Mar, I'm fine.'_  
 _'*Mer'_

_'Bullshit. Jackson Overland., Tell me what happened.'_

_'The water polo team caught me staring. Got me this morning.'_

_'How bad?'_  
 _'Jackson?'_  
 _'How bad?'_

_'You're just going to worry about me. Can't we just forget it?'_

_'Tell me now or I am going to call you.'_

_'Back, shoulder, stomach, and crotch.'_

[1 Missed Call from Merida Dunbroch] 

_'Merida no. I'm fine.'_

_'Like hell you are. What happened afterwards?'_  
 _'Tell me.'_

_'I missed my first three classes. But one of them was gym, so it doesn't matter, lol.'_

_'Get on Skype.'_

_'Merida, it's not that big of a deal. I've had worse. And I have homework.'_

Jackson sighed. It was the first day of a new semester, and the homework he had was so marginal he had it done already. It was nearing 7:00, and judging from the smells wafting up from the floor below, dinner was almost done.

He hated lying to Merida, but within an hour of leaving the nurse's office, he realized how stupid he had been to text her. She would worry and this would become a huge ordeal and soon enough both of them would be crying, and Jackson _hated_ seeing Merida cry and knowing it was because of him. Because he was getting beaten up and she couldn't do anything about it. He had been hoping that ignoring the text for a few hours after school would give her time to forget the whole thing, but he hadn't really believed that.

Jackson was laying on his bed, arms sprawled out, mobile resting in his right hand. He stared up at his ceiling, the blades of his fan twirling in his periphery. It might have been cold outside, but without the fan going, the air inside felt so stale that Jackson was sure he would suffocate.

Little whiskers tickling his left hand brought a tiny smile to the boy's face. Doing his best to move his forearm without disturbing his shoulder, Jackson began to scratch behind the bunny's ear, feeling the soft grey fur. Without needing to look down, Jackson could feel Bunnymund purring underneath his fingers. The spoiled rabbit knew exactly how to get what he wanted from Jackson. The brat.

Jackson's right hand buzzed.

_'I'm worried for you, and Im scarred. Look, I know you don't have homework rn.'_

Sighing, Jackson lifted his hand from the contented bunny to type his response.

_'I know, I just dont—'_

Another incoming text interrupted Jackson's typing.

_'You never use to hide anything from me.'_

As Jackson reread the text, it felt as thought bile caught in his throat. His stomach sank and before he knew what was happening, tears were welling up in his eyes.

He felt so alone. He had no close friends at school. He was beaten up at least once a week, it seemed. He was ignored by his coworkers at the library. His best friend — his only _friend_ — had moved thousands of miles away, and now he wasn't sure _that_ wasn't ending.

Because of him.

"Jackson!" the voice of his mother yelled in, from the bottom of the stairwell. "It's time for dinner!"

He could hear the sounds of Emma running from the television to the kitchen table and the sounds of glasses chinking and water running.

Jackson picked up Bunnymund, who had hopped over to the side of the bed when his owner began to ignore him. Putting the rabbit back into his cage, Jack steeled himself for dinner, wiping his eyes and hoping neither his mother nor his sister would ask about how school had been.

Standing in front of his door, Jackson erased what he had written out, tapped shortly on the screen, and threw his mobile on the bed before going downstairs.

_'I'll be on after dinner.'_


	2. Chapter 2

Jackson was awoken unceremoniously by the shrill screeching of his alarm clock from atop the dresser. Awake in an instant, Jackson threw himself out of the bed and was dashing towards the alarm clock, slamming the snooze button after only three full beeps. Staring at the clock cruelly blinking back 6:00, Jackson squinted his eyes and blinked the sleep from them. Deciding that five more minutes wasn't going to be any harm, he turned the alarm off (he did _not_ want to hear that sound any more than he _absolutely_ had to) and crawled back into his warm bed, tucking his feet under the blankets he had pushed down in his sleep.

The comfort of his bed protecting him from the cold and dark morning air took some of the edge off of his aching body. The kick to his chest had deepened the bruise that was already there, and there was a nice purpling on his shoulder that if it got any larger, he wouldn't be able to hide it from his mother. Talking to Merida the night before had been a surprise, though not a pleasant one; neither of them had cried, but she had proven to be a stern conversation partner.

"You have to tell someone. The principal has got to do something if you tell him."

"Merida, it'll just be better if I don't. They aren't going to be able to protect me from everything, and it'll only be a lot worse if I look like a little kid and tell on them."

"Jackson, your webcam is trash, but even I can see your chest is covered in bruises." (She had convinced him to take his shirt off and show her the damage) "How much worse could it possibly get?"

"Mer, they're only using their fists and feet right now. I really don't _want_ to see how much worse it could possibly get."

In the end, he had been able to convince the redhead girl to drop the topic; neither of them had forgotten it, but it was already late night in Scotland, and she had already stayed up so late. Jackson had spent the remainder of the evening playing video games, at first noncommittally, but an hour in, his grip on the controller was tightening.

Jackson closed his eyes, rolling over onto his left side out of habit, getting only halfway before his shoulder protested. Groaning from annoyance rather than pain, Jackson turned to the right, curling up in a ball and trying to block out the light that was drifting down the hallway from the staircase. From below, he could hear his mother, presumably in the kitchen. The sound of metal banging heavily against metal, followed by a curse, bought the boy a wince and a smile; nobody in this family was a morning person.

He had only intended to close his eyes for a moment, and he was _pretty sure he hadn't fallen asleep_ , but after what felt like a moment, he felt a hand shaking his presented shoulder ( _everything_ seemed to be happening to that left shoulder, dammit), whispering "It's time to get up" from above him. His room was now all lights and his eyes hurt even more than they had when he woke up last. Painfully opening dry eyes, Jackson blinked at the clock, noticing that it was now 6:27 and he apparently _had_ fallen asleep. The light had woken Bunnymund up as well, and as Jackson threw the comforter off, he could hear the sound of water dispensing from the cage.

Satisfied that her son was now enjoying the living misery that was wakedness, Johanna left, and Jackson could hear her performing the same ritual in the adjacent room. Emma was worse about waking up than Jackson ever was.

Climbing out of the warm bed, the cold air buffeted the skinny boy. Glancing at the door, Jackson quickly pulled off the shirt he slept in. If his mother ever saw the purple marks on his body, she would be calling the school in a heartbeat, complaining to every teacher ever employed there. Holding the shirt against his chest, the brunette scoured the piles of clothing littering the floor, settling on a lightly worn green tee and the same red flannel shirt from yesterday.

Looking at Bunnymund's cage, Jackson met eyes with the rabbit, giving a halfhearted smile and chuckle.

* * *

School managed to start without a hitch today. He'd missed the bus so Johanna had driven him to school, arriving with only enough time to visit his locker and trade his english and geometry textbooks for his history and chemistry before the warning bell rang.

First period was AP European history, which wasn't helpful for a classroom of barely (and, sometimes, not at all) awake students. Jackson found the subject interesting enough — as interesting as a general school subject could be — but the room was a mixture of ill-placed windows and dark brick, and there was only so much light the pale fluorescents could give off.

The teacher, however, was clearly unaffected by the atmosphere. Ms. Ana was young — somewhere in her late twenties, even — and was vibrant, wearing colourful dresses that would sometimes match, sometimes clash, with the streak of colour she had in her blonde hair above her left temple. Some weeks, the streak would be blue, other times green. She was wonderfully nice, and relatively understanding when it came to homework and assignments, and straightforward when it came to her exams. On the whole, Jackson couldn't help liking her, and she seemed to have a particular affection for Jackson, doing her best to pair the student up with partners and call on him.

Class was filled with the teacher flittering from one end of the chalkboard to the next, scrawling key points against the freshly cleaned board, and gesturing enthusiastically to Prussia, then to Austria, then back to Prussia. At one point, she mimed an explosion, sound effects provided, with a smile on her face that radiated her enthusiasm, and Jackson had to cover his mouth so the rest of the class couldn't see his smile that was a mixture of enjoyment and embarrassment for her. Ms. Ana caught his eye and smiled back.

Second period was accelerated chemistry, and Jackson couldn't find a better clash in appearance for Ms. Ana than Mr. North. If they raised humans the way they raised dogs, this science teacher would be a pure-bred Russian. The man was tall, towering over Jackson — and every other kid in the class — and he was old, his hair and beard completely white. But for some reason, the man seemed built like a professional wrestler, and his hands were nearly half the size of every piece of paper he passed out. It was almost comical at times, like watching a giant doll in a dollhouse three sizes too small, trying to make a life. But Jackson adored Mr. North, and chemistry wasn't a problem, if he studied the materials.

Jackson had gone up to both Ms. Ana and Mr. North before class began, to explain his absence the day before as a nurse's visit. The history teacher had looked at him with eyes filled with sadness. "Oh, Jackson..." He borrowed the notes of the girl he sat next to and copied them quickly before the class began full swing. The chemistry teacher had just adopted a cool demeanour, checked anger behind his eyes. Jackson had no way of knowing, but Mr. North didn't have children of his own, and the students were his surrogate family; Jackson was the little puppy that he was fiercely protective of. Jackson, for his part, liked Mr. North, and Ms. Ana. He didn't have many friends beyond the situational people he sat next to, and he held a special repertoire of kinship with the two teachers.

But at last, chemistry came to an end, and it was time for third period. Jackson was dreading this class with a passion. It was gym, the semester elective that had replaced Piano I. Jackson had no interest in the class, and wouldn't be taking it were it not a graduation requirement. Anxiety mixed with fear sank in Jackson's stomach as he arrived at the gymnasium, following the students who crossed the floor and lined their backpacks along the far bleachers. The students seemed to mill around afterwards, talking to one another in small groups or resting their heads on their backpacks, waiting for the second bell to sound.

A short woman with brown, straight hair who Jackson had never in his life seen before was standing under the clock, playing with a tall wooden block on wheels that, after further inspection, contained an audio rig that Jackson assumed would play over the loudspeakers. She wore the requisite apparel of a gym teacher in Jackson's mind: grey sweatshirt and white trainers, and he approached the woman with some hesitation.

"H-hi, um. My name is Jackson Overland, and I'm in your class, but I wasn't here yesterday," Jackson began. The nerves of the whole thing made his mouth rather dry, and he found himself ready to cough, the silent staring from the teacher not helping the situation along any. "I was in the nurse's office, and I've got a slip here, and I was just, yeah," he let himself trail off, offering the teacher the pass.

Around the same time, the teacher's eyes darted towards the line of backpacks. "Hey! Get off the bleachers!" she yelled, and Jackson turned his head instinctively to see two guys clamber off. Turning his attention back to the woman, Jackson noticed her blink one before giving him a smile. "Sorry about that. You don't need to show me your pass; I'll believe you. I'm Ms. Avery. You didn't miss much yesterday, but today we're doing timed tests so we can measure progress at the end of the semester. I'll get you a syllabus while you're doing warmups." As an afterthought, Ms. Avery nodded her head slightly. "You'll need to bring clothes to change into for tomorrow. Normally we change before class, but this is just the second day, so we'll do without."

The dread that had settled in Jackson's stomach with "timed tests" only sank further with the idea that he would have to change. He wasn't stupid; junior high, the students had to change for gym class. But Jackson was foolishly hoping that perhaps he'd be in the one high school gym class where everyone could just stay in their day clothes, and he wouldn't have to show off his body and the places where he was beaten.

The bell rang, and Ms. Avery gestured with a nod towards the crowd of students now moving to sit on the ground behind Jackson. "Go take a seat, and I'll do roll call."

Normally Jackson was at the front of any classroom, but gym was the exception; he found himself drifting to the far back of the mess of people, ducking down to avoid the eyes of wandering students.

Jackson paid attention to the first two names before he allowed them to filter out of his mind, paying attention only to the first sound of the name; it was, after all, a general cacophony of yeses.

As the M's ("Morrison, Timothy?" "Here") were being called, though, Jackson heard the un-oiled screech of the main doors opening far behind him, and he and most of the class turned to stare at the newcomer. Given the distance, the shape at first appeared to be a boy covered in black. As he walked closer, that didn't turn out to be an inaccurate judgement.

The guy was tall, though that was mostly due to Jackson being seated. He _was_ actually wearing all black, or at least mostly black: black jeans, black sleeveless with white text mostly obscured by a black leather vest. Dress code prohibited spikes, and the outfit looked like it at one point should have incorporated some. There were shiny silver buttons all along the hems of the vests, though. As he got closer to the students, Jackson noticed that his ears were pierced twice, and he had small black ( _seriously, did this guy wear anything other than black?_ ) earrings, except his right ear, from which a small silver chain ( _okay, finally some colour_ ) descended from a cuff on the top of the guy's earlobe. The boy's lip was pierced on the left side, and he had dustings of facial hair along his jaw. The boy's brown hair sat just a few inches above his shoulders and swayed as he walked, and when he finally came to a stop just a few feet from Jackson, he shook his bangs out of his green eyes.

Ms. Avery rolled her head and sighed and exasperated sigh. "Name?"

"Haddock," the boy replied in a somewhat gruff voice, but not as deep or imposing as Jackson had expected given his appearance.

"Alright. Haddock, Harold, take—"

"It's Harald. Har-ald," he said matter-of-factly, and Jackson's eyes widened, shocked to hear someone speaking to a teacher like this. The response elicited no retort, however. Ms. Avery made a gesture that Jackson couldn't see, and Harald walked over to the line of backpacks, depositing his own ( _shockingly black_ ) before sitting himself down on the other edge of the crowd.

After a few moments of uncontrolled whispering, Ms. Avery continued, picking up the names where she had left off.

"Murray, Samantha."

"Here."

"Noland, Benjamin."

"Yeah."

"Orr, Wing"

"Here."

"Overland, Jackson."

"Yeh," came a squeaky voice from the back of the crowd.


	3. Chapter 3

Tuesday had been an absolute hell. "Timed tests" had involved situps, pushups, _pullups_ , and the dreaded mile. By the time that the bell rang forty five minutes later, Jackson was a doubled-over mess of huffing boy, sweaty palms on his knees, trying his best to catch his breath. It wasn't until lunchtime at the tail end of fifth period that he was able to finally return to normal.

Thursday evening found an exhausted Jackson tossing his backpack on his bed, before collapsing bodily on it himself. The boy issued a face-sundering yawn into the comforter, hot air uncomfortably washing over his face and forcing him to turn his head away.

With the new semester, the only class to have changed was Jackson's third period — that is, gym. It was also the only class that he was worried about. The rest of his classes, he might worry at exam time, but he always could study the information and make it out fine with great grades. But here was a class where he was graded on how well he could use his body, and Jackson wasn't going to be able to read himself better here. His body was gangly; his legs were about as thin as they could be before being purely skeletal, and his arms were better suited for shelving books at work than they would ever be at picking up weights. The idea that he was going to be running, lifting weights, playing football, jumping hurdles, swimming — this left a serious knot in the bottom of Jackson's stomach.

But it was this last one that he was most worried for. Today had been the first day he was required to change for gym class — Wednesday had been some feel-good experience where it was all about measuring their heart rates, and they hadn't needed to change, despite the pair of blue nylon shorts dutifully stuffed in his backpack. Changing had been intimidating, though; there was nowhere to hide himself in the locker room to change other than the bathroom stalls near the entrance, and so he had tried to change there, only to make himself late in getting to class. Which meant he wasn't going to be able to get around taking his shirt and pants off in front of the other guys, displaying his patchwork body of bruises and frail frame. Any thrill Jackson might have been able to find in watching other guys changing or in disrobing in front of them was completely gone.

Thinking of the class, though, Jackson's mind drifted to that silhouette of black clothing. The guy had a difficult name, it seemed, and Jackson wasn't too keen to learn it; he was intimidating, and a completely different circle of people that Jackson didn't want to involve himself with. But he had been surprised all the same when the boy came out to the gym even later than Jackson himself, and Jackson had noticed that the boy was missing a leg.

He hadn't meant to stare, but it was so uncommon for Jackson, that he could feel himself staring all the same. The boy walked with a practised grace, enough so that seeing the black prosthetic caught Jackson's breath. Around him, he heard a few other students whisper, and Jackson knew they were about the tough boy with a fake leg. And Jackson found himself getting angry, because this was just like what other people did to him — stare, whisper, bully. But after a moment, Jackson realized that he had questions in his mind — _'How does he walk?'_ and _'Is he going to be able to run like that?'_ — and realized that he was pitying the boy. He tried to shake it off.

Still, the boy had looked, for just a moment, as scared as Jackson himself felt. Given that all of his clothing was so perfectly _black_ , it was weird that his gym outfit was an unadorned white slim tee and red shorts. He also seemed to have taken out his earrings and that cuff he wore, and the boy seemed to feel as out of his element as he looked. As he left the entrance of the locker room, only the lip and eyebrow piercings marked him as anything other than "normal." He even had a bit of a worried look on his face, somewhat scared and tentative; but after a moment, the boy's face hardened, eyes narrowed, and the whispering had died down.

The warmup jogging had been enough to pull a sweat from Jackson, and any pity that he might have had for the boy was replaced, as he noted from the corner of his eye that the brunette was at _least_ matching his pace from across the gym. Jackson felt annoyance with himself as the period went on. On his own, Jackson didn't want anything to do with this guy, but he kept noticing him, and it was because of that leg, and Jackson hated that about himself. He was being the same kind of asshole as everybody else, fixating on the guy's weakness, and Jackson hated the idea that he was no better than the guys who beat him up. But he couldn't help his eyes from drifting, fascination in his eyes as he took the artificial limb in. Partially because it seemed to clash so much with the boy who was wearing it ( _'Does he 'wear' it?... shut up Jackson, shut up'_ ).

The leg seemed have a sense of beauty about it. It was black, but that couldn't have been because of the boy's sense of style (or lack thereof, really); this thing was polished and sleek, like it was metal ( _was it?_ ). And it was surprisingly ornate; it curved at all the same places at the boy's real leg, and there were what looked like stylized grooves and sections missing, making the whole thing look more like it belonged in a science fiction movie than on the leg of a boy who dressed like the antichrist.

Jackson groaned and rolled onto his back, earning a few small cracks from various areas of his body. From his cage, it sounded like Bunnymund was busy playing with the small ball he kept in there, and Jackson looked to make sure.

He couldn't remember the name of the boy, other than that it started with an 'H', and that was enough for Jackson to realize that this fixation on that leg was a weakness in himself. He did his best to push the memory from his mind.

All the same, while Jackson sat at his desk solving problem 27c on his geometry homework, that momentary look of worry on that boy's face as he left the locker room came back, unbidden.

_Stop it, Jackson. You're not going to pity that boy._

* * *

Friday was a bittersweet day for Jackson. On the one hand, Jackson genuinely liked going to school; he enjoyed his teachers, and he enjoyed challenging himself. On the other, not having to worry about being beaten up was a suitable trade for all of that. Friday and Saturday were also the days that Jackson would go to work, and he always looked forward to that.

Ms. Ana was giddy as she showed the class a documentary on "Frederick the Great, king of Prussia and man behind the Legend." Her enthusiasm was infectious and Jackson was envious of how happy she always seemed to be.

North's class was taken up by preparation for a lab that they would be starting on Monday. "It's going to be quite a big one," the large man assured the class. Jackson was assigned a lab partner — someone from the opposite end of the classroom — and the kid seemed surprisingly nice to Jackson, enough so that he felt bad that the name was slipping from his mind even as Jackson deposited his backpack by the bleachers in the gym. He had the name written on his paper, at least. For Monday.

Reluctantly giving up the idea that he could change in the bathroom stalls, Jackson bit into the hem of his gym shirt, pushing his back against the lockers, and quickly tearing his shirt over his head, using the cool metal and dangling shirt to block out most of his body. He was out of the locker room before he was really aware that he had changed, passing that boy on his way out. Jackson did his best to not turn his head and double-take. Even so, when Ms. Avery read off "Har-ald," Jackson's ears caught the name.

The end of the school day found Jackson sitting on the school bus, mentally checking over the homework he faced for the weekend: a chapter for history; read over the lab for chemistry; four chapters for English; an essay for German; and twelve problems for math. The math was done and the German started in his free period, so it looked for Jackson like the weekend was going to be mostly books; the brunette absentmindedly patted his stuffed backpack seated next to him.

After a twenty minute ride, Jackson opened the door to his house, dropping his shoes and backpack by the door, heading to the kitchen for a glass of milk and cookies to bring up to his room. Friday was the one day of the week that Jackson didn't come home and start homework immediately, and with Emma still at school and his mother at work, this was some of the best time to play video games. _Loudly_.

* * *

The plate of cookies sat covered in crumbs and the glass of milk long emptied when Jackson looked at the clock to his side, reading 5:26 and promising to turn off the console after killing this last troll.

The ride to work wasn't long. Jackson had just turned sixteen over the break, and so he could technically be the one driving, with a permit at least. But the idea was a little scary to him, at least on the road so soon already. So with a smile back to his mother, Jackson got out of the passenger seat and pushed through the impressive, gothic-esque entrance to Burgess Public Library, Main branch.

The library was impressive, and felt so much like home for Jackson. The city had grown fast in the early twentieth century, and the library had been built huge, to accommodate the population boom and the wealth and desire for knowledge demanded by the changing culture. Three floors of marble facades, tall bookshelves reaching to the ceiling, columns encompassing the first floor cafe and reading area. Each Friday night, the library would hold special programmes for teens, and Jackson figured that they were geared at his age; sometimes, when there wasn't as much work to do, the librarians would try to get him to join in, to act as an "inside man" of sorts. He also figured that they were probably doing it to try and make him feel more at ease and happy with spending his Friday nights at a library.

But Jackson loved it. As he wheeled the first cart of nonfiction books to the main elevators and punched the third floor button, he skimmed over the titles of the books he was going to be intimately acquainted with for the next hour, managing to put a few of the titles in order before the slow elevator came to a stop and the doors opened mutely.

Working in the library was the best — and really, only — job that Jackson could think of wanting to do. He was surrounded by any knowledge he could want to find, on just about anything, and it was a rare day indeed when he didn't leave without at least one or two paper bookmarks scribbled with titles of books that interested him. If he ever managed to read _half_ of the books he found here before he died, he would consider himself well read indeed.

Jackson pushed the cart over to one of the chairs next to the opening in the center, where he could look down through the second floor into the first floor cafe. Despite it being a library, he could hear the soft murmur of voices coming from below him, and the sound of an espresso being made from off-center. Jackson relaxed his shoulders, closed his eyes for a moment and drank in the peace and serenity that he felt here.

Opening his eyes again, Jackson pulled the first book off the cart and began to sort.


	4. Chapter 4

If this was how every Monday was going to be, Jackson was going to seriously need to reconsider skipping school. 

Okay, that was a bit drastic, he thought; but the current times were starting to look like they were calling for them.

It had started off like a surprisingly decent Monday morning. Jackson had woken up with the alarm, and even managed to not fall back asleep. He had helped himself to a bowl of cereal — the good stuff. He'd had a moment to check online, even, and dream wistfully about what he would do after school let out ( _'I should be able to finish that quest if I kill the orc; no wait, the elf?'_ ) before leaving for the bus stop, which was just a few houses down from his own. The busride had been uneventful, and he had stared out the window listening carefully to music and wondering what life would be like had _he_ been born Ragnok, assassin archmage and destroyer of souls.

Nah, he'd kill the elf.

No one had spoken to Jackson as he went to his locker; he made sure to avoid the swimming pool and gymnasium altogether, leaving the swim team to be wet and shirtless and very pissed off in general on their own. That, however, had forced Jackson to take the route by the junior locker bays, on his way to the history wing.

He had heard the yelling even from a distance. His survival instinct told him to eschew the lockers entirely and go to the lower floor; but the voices weren't directed at him, and morbid curiosity finally won out. Walking slower and trying to hide behind the lockers, Jackson moved closer to the aisle where the voices were coming from.

The scene wasn't a good one. A towering boy, heavy set though half with muscle, decked out in chains and a black tee with the sleeves ripped off, stood over a girl, head wrapped in a red hijab. Her locker was closed, and one arm was braced against it, supporting her, while the other was draped over her face, her mouth open with a look of sheer terror.

"You fuckin' terrorists. You have any _fucking_ idea what we're trying to do here?" the boy shook with visible anger. "We're trying to make the world a safer place from freaks like _you_!" With the last word, he jabbed his finger in the direction of the prostrated girl, who balked, backing into the locker from her position.

"I don't— I'm not a—" she tried to get out, her voice soft, trying to maintain a calm and respectful tone as best she could.

"My father is overseas fighting _your kind_ , and you have the nerve to come _here_ and bring your _filth_ with you," the boy interrupted, eyes narrowing.

Jackson was still from where he stood, barely visible to the scene playing out in front of him. What looked to be the two friends of the girl were outside the radius of the immediate fight, and opposite them stood one unwary blonde girl, who looked to be with the boy, but clearly against what she saw going on.

But nobody was doing anything. The girls were petrified with fear, and the blonde girl was standing there, tightening her jaw line. Jackson's blood was boiling, even as his skin was paling. He wanted somebody to step up, to stop what was going on, but nobody was doing anything. Why was nobody doing anything? This was their responsibility to get involved. Why weren't they saying anything?

"You monsters are out there shooting at my father right now. And you're going to demand freedom here? We're trying to make the world free from monsters like you!"

Jackson's muscles were tensed up, trying to keep Jackson from moving, trying to anchor him to the spot. But the girl's eyes widened as the boy seemed to be moving closer, and the look of pure fear in her eyes overpowered everything in Jackson's body. His mind shut down and his body went cold as Jackson took a step into view.

"Hey!" Jackson said adamantly. This got the attention of the hulking boy and, once she realized it was safe to look away, the attention of the cowering girl. All eyes were trained on the wiry brunette, whose brain wasn't producing any more words to follow up his announcement. He couldn't think of what to say.

"You standing up for this terrorist, nerd?" growled the boy, moving one foot in Jackson's direction.

"She— she isn't a terrorist, alright? Just.. leave her alone," Jackson managed to get out, surprised at the clarity in his own voice and that it didn't thump aloud every time his heart beat against his chest.

Now that he had managed to articulate a full argument, Jackson seemed to have the bully's undivided attention. That was good, morally speaking, he supposed. But this was where Jackson found himself now. If this was how every Monday was going to be, Jackson was going to seriously need to reconsider skipping school.

The boy took a full step towards Jackson. Had there been any moisture in Jackson's mouth, he would have swallowed. He didn't recognize the boy, but that wasn't uncommon; Burgess Public High School was around 2200 students, and Jackson kept his head down most days. There was also the very real fact that Jackson was in all accelerated courses, and it wasn't likely he'd run into this boy before.

The boy's eyes narrowed in malice. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" Then, "Do you know who I am?" The boy took another step towards Jackson, and (finally), the blonde girl raised her arm towards the boy's back.

"Travis," she said softly, her hand outstretched in a placating gesture.

The boy didn't turn around. "Astrid," he huffed angrily, and that was enough for the girl to freeze, and drop her arm.

_'Thanks, Astrid,'_ Jackson thought amidst a few curse words directed at the unhelpful girl.

This boy, Travis, took another step towards Jackson. It seemed that he had completely forgotten the girl and the argument that had happened not even a minute prior; and if the boy had been angry before, it looked like now it was personal, and he was pissed.

"You don't fuck with me," Travis said, standing a few feet away from Jackson.

Jackson shook a little. _'Well_ that _would have been nice to know a few seconds ago,'_ he couldn't help but think. Seriously, Jackson had enough trouble with being beaten up as it was, and now he was playing saviour for others. This wasn't how you survived high school.

Now that Travis had moved towards Jackson, he was no longer imprisoning the girl on the floor. In one deft movement, she managed to throw herself off of the ground, grabbing her bag, and before Jackson could even register what had happened, she flashed him a look mixed with thankfulness and apology, and was off around the corner with the speed of a sprinter.

Jackson stood dumbfounded, and Travis himself was surprised. In the sudden moment of action, the two friends escaped in the direction of their friend, leaving the two boys and Astrid as the sole participants in the standoff.

Then, Travis refocused on Jackson, and he realized just _how_ bad interfering was going to be for him.

"Look what you've fucking done, you shit," Travis growled, crossing the distance between he and Jackson and grabbing into the grey shirt Jackson had received on a family trip to the NASA compound in Texas. In one practised movement, Travis dragged Jackson around, throwing him against the same row of lockers the girl had been cowering against not a moment ago. Jackson crashed into the metal, the force of the impact mixed with his fear momentarily knocking the wind from him. When his head hit the locker a fraction of a second later, Jackson saw a flash of white and the faint bursts of stars.

"She fucking got away," was all the boy had to say. Using his free hand, Travis punched Jackson in the stomach, ripping a cough from the boy; the force of the blow pushed Jackson further into the locker.

When Jackson managed to open his eyes and see properly, he noticed that they weren't alone any more. In the very short amount of time since he had been thrown against the locker, a crowd of students had begun to gather a safe distance from Jackson and Travis. More were trickling in, but Travis seemed not to care about the audience.

And for what it was worth, the audience didn't seem to care about Jackson. After all, why would they? This was Jackson Overland. They were here for the perverse carnage that characterized their savannah.

Travis pulled Jackson back from the locker before throwing him back against it again, letting the locker do most of the damage against the boy with another loud crash. From inside one of the lockers, the sound of something falling and shattering — probably a mirror — could be heard. Or would have been, were Jackson paying attention to any other sounds.

Jackson looked up into the eyes of his assailant, and Travis raised his clenched fist, he shut his eyes, bracing for the impact.

"Travis!" came a voice that seemed faintly familiar. Jackson opened one of his eyes tentatively.

To Travis' right, that Hammock kid from gym class had pushed through the crowd, which now seemed to be moving away from him as though he were on fire. Despite his protest, he didn't look to be too sure of himself, and there was a great deal more worry on his face than there was defiance.

Travis' head turned slowly from Jackson's view. Time was slower now than it had been before; Jackson was sure of that much.

"Back the _fuck_ off, _Hiccup_ ," Travis snarled at the boy, not looking away. The boy (Hiccup?) slunk his shoulders at that, his face wilting, and he took a step back, reforming with the general crowd of onlookers.

Travis returned his attention to Jackson. The presence of the crowd, mixed with the interruptions from the outsiders, seemed to have taken away most of the overflowing animosity from the bully, but there was still anger enough left to throw Jackson against the locker bay once more.

This was, of course, just in time for Mr. Prinsen, the piano teacher, to arrive on the scene. Travis still had Jackson pushed against the locker, and Jackson was really beginning to wonder how many more days of this he could take before one of them would finally kill him.

With a teacher on the scene, the crowd stepped aside, pretending to disperse, as Mr. Prinsen pushed through, taking hold of both Travis' shoulder and Jackson's. Travis, knowing the fight was over, released Jackson's shirt from his grip as the teacher pulled the two boys apart, steering them through the crowd. Normally Mr. Prinsen was very carefree and friendly; in a way, Jackson had regarded him as a secret hippie — someone who was "free love, make love not war" in private, but suit and tie in public. But this man was all anger, and Jackson stumbled over his feet in the uncoordinated rush, his body not quite sure what was going on any more. At this, the teacher relaxed slightly, helping Jackson up with one hand while not releasing his grip on Travis' collar.

Without a word, Mr. Prinsen led Jackson and Travis in the direction of the principal's office; though as they got closer, Jackson realized they were heading instead for the adjacent nurse's office.

It was a bit difficult for all three of them, in their conjoined form, to make it through the single-space doorway, and in the end, Mr. Prinsen was forced to release his hold momentarily on Travis in order to usher him through the doorway. The grip was renewed once they were inside.

Nurse Erinn had looked up at the commotion at the doorway. Surprised was written on her face as they entered, and if Jackson had to guess, this wasn't an everyday occurrence, a teacher dragging two students into the office.

"I found this one," Mr. Prinsen began, shaking Travis' collar, "pushing Jackson against the locker. From what I could hear before I got there, I'm sure that's not all that happened. I'm leaving Jackson here with you while I take the other to see Principal Mallory." The teacher's voice was cool, collected, and that scared Jackson a bit; being able to remain in control while angry was something that Jackson found intimidating.

With that, Mr. Prinsen patted Jackson on the back of his shoulders, causing Jackson to wince slightly, the injury from last week still a few days away from healed. Together, the other two left the office, turning left at the doorway.

Nurse Erinn looked at Jackson, concern and disappointment in the frown on her face. "Jackson..."

"Hi Nurse Erinn," Jackson replied sheepishly.


	5. Chapter 5

' _This is just an_ awful _day,_ ' thought Jackson. He was sitting on the plastic, armless chair across from the bed he had been passed out on a week ago. The ice bag in his hand was freezing his hand much faster than it was the back of his head; Jackson wasn't entirely sure what a bag of ice was going to do to make the situation better, but at this point, he didn't feel like arguing too much.

Nurse Erinn was standing over Jackson. Her lips were moving, sound was coming out, and Jackson was trying hard to listen to her, but only snippets were getting through enough to register in his brain. She genuinely had his best interests at heart, Jackson could tell, and he gave her respect for that; but all of this was just over the top. All Jackson wanted to do right now was go to history class, sit down, take notes, and pretend like he hadn't been beaten up. Again.

' _Oh crap, she stopped talking. What do I do now? Am I suppose to respond?_ ' Jackson noticed. Figuring he'd cover all of his bases, he nodded his head slightly, lowering his eyes to the ground in the process. There was silence for a moment.

"Look, Jackson. We're going to have to call your parents," Nurse Erinn said, bending her knees to meet Jackson's eyes, joints cracking audibly.

This caught Jackson's attention, but fast.

"No no, you don't have to do that," Jackson protested, snapping his head up in worry.

Her lips tightening, Nurse Erinn tilted her head slightly to the left.

"This is the second time in a week you've been here after a fight. These aren't your fault, Jackson; you're not going to get in any trouble. I don't think you're going around trying to have this happen."

"No, just— I won't let this happen again. I promise," Jackson argued, lowering his hand and putting the ice pack in his lap; he was only going to deal with one annoyance at a time here, and this was going to take precedence over a small bump on the back of his head.

Calling home was the absolute worst thing for Jackson at this point. The stares from his mother on the back of his head as he went about the house. The awkward dinner silence when he knew that she was trying to figure out how to bring up the conversation. The worry that was on her face when she looked at him, not judging him but all the same making Jackson feel like he wasn't good enough. And then, Emma — it made Jackson feel sick to his stomach: she looked up to Jackson, and he knew it, and he wasn't a "big enough boy" to be able to protect himself. Last week had been hell enough. He'd been knocked unconscious; it was kind of expected that the school would be forced to call home. Every morning that past week, his mother had asked him pointed questions ("What are you going to be doing today?" or "Do you want me to drive you to school today, Jackson?"), trying to be helpful, and it felt like coddling. If they called home today... Jackson didn't want to know how this was going to end.

"Jackson, we don't have a choice here. We're only trying to help you, here." She motioned to the bag of ice in Jackson's lap. "You need to keep this on your head." Jackson let an annoyed breath out through his nose before reapplying the ice.

* * *

By the time Jackson arrived to history, the period was ten minutes from over. Nurse Erinn had sent the ice bag with Jackson, wrapped in an ever-increasingly soaked brown napkin; Jackson threw it into the garbage bin as he entered the history wing. It made him feel a little better, to have control over at least _something_ today, especially if he knew he was going against the nurse's wishes.

In the end, she had forced Jackson to betray his mother's work number, and then to add insult to literal injury, had called Johanna with Jackson still there. Even away from the phone, he could tell that his mother was becoming increasingly anxious, as Nurse Erinn had to interrupt the voice on the other end more and more. Finally, sealing his fate, Jackson had been passed the phone, at his mother's insistence. Sure enough, she was worried; genuine concern for Jackson, fueled by love, but at this point, Jackson just wanted the whole thing forgotten and over. Amidst "Do you want me to pick you up?"s and "Are you sure you're okay?"s, Jackson had managed to assuage his mother that he wasn't in need of hospitalization, and that he was well enough to stay at school for the rest of the day, bless his soul.

Jackson took a much needed deep breath before opening the door to Ms. Ana's classroom. Jackson wanted to be home right now, not dealing with all of this. Well, he wanted to be home, but without his mother; just fall asleep, wake up, and start the day over again. Flashing the pass from the nurse, Jackson took his seat wordlessly and, to her credit, Ms. Ana didn't ask any questions, instead keeping with the line of dialogue she was trying to pull her students into. Jackson felt eternally grateful for the history teacher as he pulled his blue notebook out of his backpack and flipped to the next blank page. He had missed most of the lesson, however, and most of what he wrote down in his notebook proved to be unhelpful and out of context. When the bell rang nine minutes later, Jackson packed his materials with annoyance and left for chemistry.

The events of the morning had driven from Jackson all of the excitement the boy had for the day. Where he had been eager before to start the lab in chemistry, most of that eagerness was dulled now with dread and disappointment. To Jackson's immense relief however, his lab partner, Jamie Bennett, was the best he could ask for in that department.

"Pass me the pipette," Jamie said, sticking his hand out without looking up. Jackson passed the boy the plastic instrument, and a moment later they had 20mL of blue liquid.

Jackson wrote observations down as Jamie turned, mixing the liquid with water and stirring. Someone a table over dropped their glass beaker.

By the end of class, Jackson was feeling noticeably better about the day again. The pair had managed to finish with ten minutes to spare, and had sat, making smalltalk at first but eventually actually having a conversation. It had taken a few minutes, but Jamie finally (and unwittingly) coaxed a laugh out of Jackson's mouth, and after that, all of Jackson's muscles seemed to relax and the boy felt more at ease.

Of course, the same wordless dread came with the bell, and Jackson slipped his backpack over his shoulders as he began the trek to the gymnasium. He was halfway to the doors when he remembered that his gym clothes were still in his locker. Groaning, Jackson reversed his direction, walking as quickly as he could through the crowd.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been fast enough, and the bell to start class rang with Jackson a few steps from the gym door. Mentally cursing whatever god in Heaven would allow this day to happen, Jackson pushed through the doors, feeling stupid as he crossed the impossibly long distance of the gym with the eyes of half the class on him. Ducking his head, Jackson dropped his bag by the bleachers as Ms. Avery began attendance, and left for the locker rooms.

' _Perhaps this isn't the worst thing that could happen,_ ' Jackson thought as he passed the first empty row of lockers in the men's room. ' _All of the others are already changed, so I've got the place to myself._ ' Dropping his clothes on the bench in the second row of lockers, Jackson sat down and began untying his shoes.

He let out a shallow, long breath, allowing himself a moment alone and away from everything that was going wrong with today. Finally, his shoes removed, Jackson grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it over and off his head.

A noise from behind him caused Jackson to scream, turning around and backing into the locker. Eyes wide and breath coming fast, Jackson was splayed against the locker, meeting the green eyes of that Hamlock boy. In this class. The one who always came late.

Hiccup looked to be unnerved by the sudden action that had just happened in front of him, and was taking a moment to regain his composure. In that time, Jackson became acutely aware that he was shirtless, and pulled his wadded shirt ball over his chest, doing his best to try and hide it from view. It didn't seem to work, though.

"Hey, are you alright?" came the voice from across the bench. This was the first time that Jackson had been this close to Hiccup, and his initial judgement that the boy was tall wasn't entirely accurate; he was, at most, an inch or two taller than Jackson himself. Hiccup was still dressed in his punked out clothing, though his left earrings were already out, as was the less ornate right earring.

"Uh, yeah. I'm, I'm fine," squawked Jackson, a blush covering his face. This day was bipolar, and it was strongly leaning towards screwing him over.

Hiccup scratched the back of his head with his right hand, the action suddenly making Jackson's own scalp feel itchy. This close, Jackson noticed that there was a tiny braid behind the boy's right ear that swayed as he stood there.

"That's good," Hiccup said, and the locker room lapsed into an awkward silence for a moment.

_'Oh God, I just want to get out of here, right now, kill me please,'_ Jackson thought, his skin feeling clammy.

After a moment, Hiccup's eyes fell to the corner.

"I'm, I'm sorry about this morning."

Jackson wasn't sure what to say to this, caught off guard by the actual sincerity coming from the boy. But this was entirely unbidden, and Jackson let out an acquiessing grunt and a nod, before deciding that wasn't good enough.

"It's, uh, it's okay."

"No, it isn't. Travis is a good person, but he's an asshole," Hiccup said, looking up and making eye contact with Jackson, and after a moment, Jackson had to look away.

There was a loud intake of breath, and Jackson looked up. Hiccup's eyes were focused just below Jackson's left shoulder, and, looking down, Jackson realized that his shirt had lowered enough to expose the nasty bruise on his chest from last week. He hurriedly raised the shirt again, covering the blotch, but all at once, Hiccup's hands were in fists.

" _Shit_. Travis did this to you? Fuck, I'm such a piece of— _god_ ," Hiccup growled, turning his head and pursing his lips in anger.

"N-n-no, it, this wasn't Trav—," Jackson tried to say, but it was apparent that Hiccup wasn't listening to him.

"God, I should have just stopped him," Hiccup continued, before looking up at Jackson again. "What else did he do?"

Jackson's eyes were wide, watching the boy berate himself in front of him. "Noth— Just, uh," But Hiccup was already taking a step closer, his legs pressed against the bench, and he was leaning over the offending plank, towards Jackson.

"Let me see," Hiccup said, his voice a mixture of concern and annoyance. This caught Jackson entirely off guard, and he pushed his shirt tighter against his chest.

"No— I— no— uhm," Jackson stammered out. Hiccup, suddenly aware of what he was doing, stopped, and looked up at Jackson, whose gaze dropped to the floor after a moment. "I'm... fine."

Hiccup steeled his jaw, outside of Jackson's vision. Feeling uncomfortable and _so overly exposed_ by the whole event, Jackson pulled his shoulders towards his chest, trying to become as small and invisible as possible. Doing this, however, rolled his shoulders forward, and the bruise on the top of Jackson's left shoulder came into view.

There was a moment of stillness, and then there was movement. Jackson looked up, just in time to see two of Hiccup's fingers touch gently on top of the shoulder bruise, sending an almost imperceptible tinge of pain to his brain.

Then all at once, a feeling of intense burning erupted from Hiccup's chest, radiating like the sun throughout Jackson's body. He could feel every tiny vein in his body, and his head felt lighter, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of senses. But Jackson's attention was focused on what he was seeing. From just out of the bottoms of his eyes, pulses of red were radiating from his chest, and with wide eyes and gaping, dry mouth, he looked down.

Jackson's heart pounded against his chest, loud enough that Jackson could hear it, could feel it in his bones. With each beat of his heart, his chest lit up with red light from within, outlining dark shapes where his larger blood vessels were; and at the center, Jackson could see the beating mass of his heart, silhouetted by the light spilling from his body. Jackson's mind was blank and his eyes screamed at him to blink.

From the corner of his eyes Jackson could see more light, this one faint, blinking into existence moments after his own. Looking up, Jackson saw Hiccup's neck lighting up with the same red glow. Through his black shirt, the light was dulled, but still shone, and Jackson knew that if Hiccup weren't wearing a shirt, the light would be almost blindingly bright.

Hiccup himself was staring down at his chest, his breathing speeding up even as Jackson watched. A moment later, Hiccup looked up, glancing first at Jackson's own glowing chest, eyes wide and mouth agape, then at Jackson's face, seemingly staring through Jackson.

It seemed like an eternity, but it was only two breaths until Hiccup finally spoke, his voice sounding detached.

"Oh shit."

Mind overcome by the overwhelming situation, Jackson was taken by panic.

"Oh my god," he breathed, before ducking quickly out from under Hiccup's hand where it rested still on his shoulder; Hiccup, for his part, didn't move to catch Jackson, but instead caught his balance and turned to look at Jackson, eyes round in fear and questioning.

Jackson stood for a moment, staring back at the boy. But when Hiccup's chest beat another red pulse of light, illuminating the boy's neck and casting red-hued shadows against his leather vest, Jackson turned and ran, body sliding and bumping into lockers, banging his shin against the bench of another row of lockers before he reached the doorway. Jackson ran through, down the hall away from the gym, up the back stairwell, and into the unilluminated, unoccupied wrestling room, stopping only long enough to put his shirt on shakily before curling up in a corner and hiding in sheer panic.

Back in the locker room, Hiccup stood still, arm outstretched, eyes unfocused and gazing at the space that had been occupied by his soulmate not a minute ago.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters are getting longer at this point, so please allow me a little longer between each one!

Jackson sat, huddled in on himself, in the dark and unfamiliar room. There were no windows, and it took minutes for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, before he could see his knees pulled close to his chest. His breathing was irregular, and Jackson felt sure that he was having a panic attack.

He had never cut class before, in the ten years of schooling he'd been in. Other than the days he'd been out sick or the periods he'd spent in the nurse's office, Jackson Overland had attended every class that he'd been expected to be in. Every fibre of his being felt this was wrong, felt out of place that Jackson was so obviously skipping his class. Ms. Avery had seen him walk in; his backpack was down by the bleachers; there wasn't a way out of this. Jackson breathed faster, carding his hands in the sides of his hair.

He needed to return to class.

His shoes were in the locker room.

Propelled by a feeling of magnanimous stupidity, Jackson moved to stand up, finding instead that his legs were locked in their position, and the boy merely toppled over, catching himself at the last moment before he hit the hard but padded floor. The room stunk heavily of sweat, and everything that Jackson's bare skin touched felt grimy.

Jackson Overland couldn't return to class.

The red glow eminating from his chest had pulsed once after Jackson had ducked out from under Hiccup's hand in the locker room, before suddenly ceasing. Somewhere in the act of running for his life, Jackson's body had returned to normal, so that by the time he arrived in this auxillary room there was nothing to show for or feel from the whole event other than an overreactive Jackson. Anyone at this point could take one look at him and declare it was just a dream.

Except it wasn't a dream. Jackson had _glown_ , and so had Hiccup, a boy Jackson didn't even know the full name of.

Thinking about the events that had driven Jackson here only served to wash another wave of panic over Jackson, his stomach dropping and Jackson rocking his shoulders back and forth. His body protested, but the physical pain was so far removed from the list of things Jackson cared about.

Outside the door, Jackson could hear the telltale sounds of moving. Judging from the fear in his gut and how muffled the sound was, Jackson knew it was just one person. Looking around the room with his half acclimized eyes, Jackson spotted what looked like a roll of black netting to his left, and he pulled himself over, finally able to move his muscles, and draped the netting over himself, doing his best to hide from view. Looking down, his legs looked to be obscured, so that if no one looked too hard, the room stayed dark, and he didn't move an inch, he would be well enough hidden.

_'Oh God, please, please don't let him find me,'_ Jackson whispered. He wasn't religious, but this was all he had left.

Whatever god was in charge of Heaven today could care less about Jackson.

Twenty five seconds after he had pulled himself into the relative security of the netting, the padded doors to the room pushed open, spilling in flourescent lighting from the hallway that stung at Jackson's eyes and illuminated the outline of a somewhat lanky boy with one leg that didn't look _just quite right_. The figure stepped into the room, arm still holding the door open, as the head slowly turned, surveying the room. Jackson's heart leapt for his mouth when what he assumed was Hiccup's gaze landed over him, but the figure continued sweeping the room. After taking one full glance, Hiccup paused, still haloed by light and features indistinct; Jackson mistook the pause as him giving up, but a moment later, Hiccup stepped into the room, arm fumbling uselessly against the wall, looking for the lightswitch. Jackson's pulse sped up, and he was sure he was going to give himself away.

After a futile search the room was still bathed in darkness, and Jackson could see the shape of the boy leaning against the wall, back to Jackson as he used an arm to prop himself up. When Hiccup pulled the same arm back and struck the wall loudly, it startled Jackson so badly that he unconsciously flinched, disturbing his hiding place slightly.

At length, Hiccup turned to look out towards the center of the room, though still close to the wall. His arms draped by his side and his head swiveled left to right, slowly, looking across the room.

"Hey, bud… are you in here?" he asked aloud in his rough voice. When no response came, Hiccup took a step closer to the center of the room. "Look… I'm… not going to hurt you. I promise," he continued, as though he were trying to coax a startled animal from a hiding place. Which Jackson figured wasn't the worst analogy for the situation.

"Please, just… trust me. I—"

And then Hiccup stopped speaking. He was standing in the same spot, but his head was down. His shoulders rolled forward, in on themselves and, defeated, Hiccup turned towards the door. When he reached it, he gripped the bar of the door, letting out a discouraged sigh. Hiccup glanced back over his shoulder, staring vacantly at the half of the room Jackson was curled up in. Hiccup seemed to open his mouth, but no sound came out other than a sigh. And then he was gone.

Jackson refused to breathe properly for a minute after that, even though he heard the footsteps going back down the hallway. This felt like a horror movie that he was stuck in, but it wasn't fun; the terror felt real, because this was him, and at any moment, the boy would be at his shoulder, dragging him out from his hiding spot. But as one minute elapsed, followed by a second, Jackson's body began to shake in tremors as his muscles came out of the intense clenching Jackson hadn't been aware he'd been subjecting them to. He closed his eyes, and wasn't at all surprised when he noticed they were wet at the corners.

Three minutes later, Jackson heard the sounds of the footsteps returning from down the hallway. He curled in on himself and prepared for the inevitable but the footsteps continued, passing the doorway on the outside and going down the staircase, the thudding sound of the boots against the bare concrete reverberating in the open stairwell.

Finally safe, Jackson didn't bother to remove himself from the netting he was tangled in. He simply brought a hand up to his face, propping himself up against the wall, and cried. It was more dry heaving and shaking than anything, but one lone tear slid down his face all the same.

Jackson's phone was in his backpack, and in this darkness Jackson couldn't make out the face of the clock on the far end of the wall. He figured that he was ten, maybe fifteen minutes into the class period by the time he wiped the dampness from his eyes and composed himself. With the threat of discovery by Hiccup now a distant possibility, Jackson needed to address how he was going to get out of the situation he was in. For the first time in his life, Jackson needed to not have classes for the rest of the day; he couldn't sit through any more periods. Today was a day of firsts, it seemed.

It took two minutes for his addrenaline-fried brain to piece together a plan, but eventually Jackson untangled himself from the mesh netting and dragged his limp body from his makeshift protection. His legs were shaky and initially didn't want to support him, but after two or three false steps Jackson regained his ability to walk upright.

Leaving the wresting room, Jackson took the staircase down, wobbling slightly, his head feeling uncharacteristically light. As he made it to the base of the stairs, Jackson stared down the hallway that led past the two locker rooms and into the main gym. Preparing for the worst, Jackson entered the men's locker room, but found it empty. His things were all together on the bench where he left them, but it looked as though somebody had meant to move them; Hiccup perhaps, Jackson thought, but tried not to dwell on it. Putting his shoes on as quickly as possible, Jackson left the locker rooms, heading for the main gym. His plan could fail, miserably, but Jackson couldn't bear to think about that right now.

Jackson was almost to the entrance of the gym when the figure of Ms. Avery came into view. There was outdated pop music blasting over the loudspeakers, but Jackson could make out neither the tune nor the words. From what little he could see, it appeared as though the students were performing running relays across the length of the gym.

Ms. Avery immediately noticed Jackson, and she practically dropped everything she was holding as she jogged over to him. At first it appeared she was angry, but as she stepped into the relative darkness of the less-illuminated hallway, her features morphed into concern.

"Jackson, where have you been? We've been looking for you for twenty minutes. First Harald was lat—," she began, but stopped when she noticed the wince that the other boy's name brought unbidden from Jackson. "Jackson—?"

"I'm, uh, I'm really not feeling well right now. Can I go to the nurse's office?" he asked, his stomach contorting.

Ms. Avery's features softened. "Absolutely. Bring me your planner so I can fill out the pass."

Jackson's planner was in his backpack. In the gym. Where Hiccup was.

"No I— I— I _really_ don't feel good right now."

Ms. Avery didn't know how to respond, and there was a moment of silence between the two, until finally: "Ok, Jackson. Grab your backpack. You're excused from class, so long as you head to the nurse. And I'll check with her after school."

"Absolutely," Jackson responded, perhaps too enthusiastically for the situation. With the teacher following him, Jackson stepped into the gym and grabbed his backpack. Slinging it over his shoulder, he began hurriedly walking towards the door.

But he was only a third of the way there when motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Knowing what it was before he even looked up, Jackson saw Hiccup jogging towards him, face unreadable, from the other end of the gym. It was clear that he was running against the flow of the others in the relay, as he had to dodge other runners in the process.

Jackson sped up his pace, doing his best to maintain composure and evade the boy.

But he wasn't fast enough. He wasn't going to be fast enough. Hiccup was going to catch him. He was only a few yards away. He was almost—

"HARALD HADDOCK," came the booming voice of Ms. Avery from behind Jackson. There was so much condensed anger into that name that Hiccup stopped, nearly tripping over himself, and fear prickled Jackson's spine, momentarily stopping him as well. The gym was silent, except for the music playing over the loudspeakers; the other runners must have stopped. All that Jackson cared about was that Hiccup had stopped moving.

"HERE," shouted Ms. Avery. "NOW."

Hiccup made a move towards Jackson.

" _NOW!_ "

Defeated, Hiccup slumped his shoulders and he and Jackson walked opposite directions, until the pale boy slipped out of the gym, heart pounding hard for the third time that day. Jackson's mind was blank, and for a moment he stood dumbly on the other side of the gym doors, staring forward into the white walls of the hallway. Clearing his head with a shake, Jackson walked himself to the nurse's office.

For the second time that day, Jackson entered through the doorway of the nurse's office. For the second time that day, Nurse Erinn looked up at Jackson with a look of concern and pity. For the second time that day, Nurse Erinn opened her mouth, saying Jackson's name, letting it roll off with sadness.

But for the first time that day, and for the first time any day, Jackson responded.

"I— I… I don't feel well, after all. I just… can I call my mom and have her pick me up?"

Nurse Erinn looked at Jackson for a moment, before closing her eyes and nodding her head.

* * *

' _Merida please wherever you are please get on Skype right now._ '  
' _I'm freaking out and I'm terrified and please help._ '  
' _I need you, right now._ '

Jackson stood in his room. He'd been home for twenty minutes now, and he couldn't manage to sit still, lay still, stand still; he was in the act of pacing around, having previously thrown himself on his bed, worry and anxiety gnawing at him from the inside out. Glancing over at the clock hanging opposite his bed revealed that it was nearing noon and were he at school, would just now be the start of fifth period.

His mother had asked him questions, assuming the worst when she heard his voice over the phone from the nurse's office for the second time that day. In the end, however, she had willingly left work immediately, arriving at Jackson's school in little under a half hour later. The ride home from school had been unnerving for both mother and son. This had never happened before, and Johanna was worried for Jackson, but she wasn't sure what to do or to say. The few questions she probed him with were met with simple, guarded answers, which only served to thicken the air with more worry. Something was bothering Jackson deeply, and he wasn't sharing it, no matter how much she tried.

Jackson, for his part, had wanted nothing more than to set his mother at ease. He had wanted to answer all of her questions, to show her that he wasn't dying so that she didn't have to worry, and more importantly, so that she would leave him alone to figure out the spiraling state of his life. But the more he tried to speak, the more he realized that his answers were gruff and almost harsh, and that he was only making the situation worse for her, which weighed on Jackson's conscious even more. By the time they reached the house, Jackson knew that he had only made things more painful for his mother, and he felt sick to his stomach when he insisted that he was fine, that he "just needed to go lay down for a while."

Jackson Overland didn't lie like this to his mother, and they both knew it.

Once inside his room and assured that his mother had left the house, Jackson had gone to his mobile, sending off texts to his best friend with words that flowed from his fingers without him realising. As he read back over the first one, then the second, he realized that they would induse the worst panic in the girl, and he tried to alleviate it, but only heightened the matters with each subsequent text he sent.

Merida would be close to finishing with her school by now. In his anxious state, Jackson ignored the guilt that he was forcing her to give up any clubs she might have had.

Jackson threw himself on the blue beanbag in front of his television, rolling around for half a minute before propelling himself off and wearing a path into the white carpetting of his bedroom.

After six minutes that felt like stifling eternities, Jackson's mobile rang. The boy launched himself at his bed and fumbled with the device before managing to answer it.

"Jackson, are yew in hospital? Are yew alright?" came the worried voice over the other end of the phone, Scottish accent calming Jackson's racing pulse slightly. Merida had always had the accent, spending her young childhood in Scotland; it had mostly disappeared by the time she and Jackson had entered junior high, though he loved to tease her about it, immitating her speech and earning himself punches for it. Returning to Scotland however, she had immediately regressed into it.

"No, no, it's, it's nothing like that. I just… I need to see you for this one right now, Mer."

"I'm almost home now. I'll be on immediately." Then: "Do yew want me tah stay on?"

Jackson took a breath. "No, I'll be okay for the moment."

Another twenty minutes passed with Jackson alone in his room, stewing. Instinct took over and convinced him to pull his homework from his bag, but his leg bounced with increasing menace and he took seven minutes to read, then re-read, the same paragraph without even noticing what subject the book was for. When the notification on his screen displayed that Merida was online, Jackson all too readily threw his book to the side, sure that he had managed to dent the cover even through the protective book sleeve.

Before Jackson had a moment to act, Merida was calling him. Clicking accept, Merida's picture of her smiling wide for the camera engulfed his screen and Jackson felt security wash over him for the first time that day. A second or two later, when the picture was replaced with the live version of the girl, it was a different scene entirely — Merida was still in her school uniform, and even over the camera Jackson could tell she was breathing heavily, as though she had just been running. Which Jackson was sure she probably had been. There was worry written all over her face.

"Jackson are yew alright—what happened—are yew—did yew get—?" she blurted out all at once.

Jackson took a deep breath; he'd been rehearsing this in his mind for over an hour now, but now that he was facing his friend, he wasn't sure how to begin. Embarrassment mixed with fear and shame fluttered about his chest.

"Merida, I—" he began, but his mouth wouldn't produce more words after that, and when his hesitation turned into a pause, Merida responded.

"Were yew attacked again?"

"Well, yes, but—," and again he wasn't sure how to continue.

"But what? What happened? Why did they attack yew?"

"I, there was this girl. She was Muslim, or. And this guy was bullying her, calling her a terrorist, and I tried to defend her, and it turned into a fight, and… but a teacher came by before it got too horrible."

"Oh my God Jackson, are yew hurt? What happened after that?"

"No, I'm not hurt, but I—"

Merida's voice deepened in worry. "Did… did he puhll a knife?"

"No, I—"

"Did he _touch yew_?"

"No—"

"Did he—"

"Merida, I glowed."

The conversation went silent for a second, a look of confusion sweeping over the girl's round face.

"Glowed? Like, a light?"

"No, Merida—I _glowed_."

This time, her eyes went wide with understanding, and her mouth opened slightly. Jackson wasn't sure how to respond, and after a moment of silence, Merida hesitantly spoke.

"For… the guy?"

Jackson was confused, until he realized she was asking about Travis.

"No, no—no. But, this guy. In my gym class. He's like, a goth or a rebel or whatever; he's got this, punk, thing going on. And he's—" Jackson felt pure contempt for himself, that he was about to mention Hiccup's leg. He didn't know the boy, but Jackson was disgusted even so that it was still something that he couldn't let go of. The leg didn't bother him in the slightest, and he was sure it was just the novelty of it, but Jackson suddenly found he was loathing himself.

"And he's—?"

"No, nothing. But he found me in the locker room, and I glowed and then—" Jackson's voice trailed off.

"And then?"

"I ran. As fast as I could." And Jackson explained the full event for Merida, in accute detail: how he had been late to class; how Hiccup had found him in the locker room; how Jackson's overwhelming fear sent him running; how he had hid in the room and how Hiccup had gone searching for him. As he told the story, it began to feel more and more unreal, as though it were nothing but a bad nightmare he had just woken up from. When he finished, silence fell back between the two, Jackson breathing heavily, his pale skin flushed with embarrassment and exertion.

Merida went to speak, but her voice caught in her throat, and instead she rested her face in her palm.

"Merida… say— say something," Jackson's voice cracked, watching his friend.

The redhead girl looked up, still trying to process what had happened to her best friend. Jackson was riddled with worry and anxiety.

"Did he glow, too?" she asked, hesitantly.

"Y-yeah, he did."

"So, yew and… _what's_ his name?"

"Hiccup," Jackson mumbled, just loud enough for Merida to hear.

"What."

"His name is something like Harold, but it's foreign sounding. But Travis, the guy this morning, called him Hiccup when he tried to stop him and—"

"Wait, he tried tah protect yew this morning?"

"Yeah, but no, don't get that idea Merida. Travis is the guy's friend. He told me as much."

"Jackson..."

And all at once, Jackson's worry turned to rage, spilling over. Every feeling of weakness and helplessness came crashing down on Jackson at once, and he wanted nothing more than to yell and scream and attack anybody.

"No you know what? _Fuck_. _This_. Who the _fuck_ decides this for me? Does God just sit up there in Heaven, playing matchmaker from Hell? Who the _fuck_ chooses soulmates for us?"

"Jackson… it's something our bodies doo."

Tears were in the corners of Jackson's eyes now, but he was too angry to pay attention to them. "No! Screw that. My body is still growing. I'm a mess of hormones and puberty and my voice cracks and my body is just messed up. This is just a mistake. My body is wrong, this is just a part of, of growing up."

Merida's bottom lip quivered and she looked down as she spoke, unable to make eye contact with her best friend. "It, doesn't work that way."

"No, it has to be that. Or, or, or maybe, like, there's a group of people out there who could be soulmates, and he's just one of them, but not like, the only one, right? Like if our bodies… I mean, there are so many people in the world, and if it's chemical," Jackson choked on a sob, eyes pleading.

Merida clenched her eyes shut, trying to blink away her own tears for her friend.

"Jackson..."

Tears were rolling down Jackson's face now and his face was contorted in agony.

"No— I— I don't want it to be _him_ ," he sobbed.

Jackson crossed his arms on the desk, shoving his face against them. Hot tears steamed at his eyes, but Jackson couldn't do anything but cry. He shed a tear for every night he had fallen asleep dreaming of one day finding his soulmate. For every time after being beaten up, when all he did was comfort himself with the idea of finding this perfect guy who glowed for him, who would love him and protect him and make his life perfect, make it livable for the first time. Someone would could love Jackson.

And now it was ruined. _Jackson_ was ruined. His one hope was gone.

Jackson cried into his arms, webcam shaking with each tremor of his body. Thousands of miles away, Merida watched her friend, completely alone, unable to wrap her arms around him.


	7. Chapter 7

Sunlight shone through Jackson's eyelids, gently waking the boy from his dreamless sleep. He could feel the crisp sheets of his pillow against his face, and his toes were cold from where the blanket didn't reach all the way down. The sounds of movement — the whirling of the fan blades, the hopping in Bunnymund's cage, the low drone of his computer's fan — came from all around, but Jackson continued lying still, letting the world pass around him, wondering if he couldn't fall back asleep if he didn't move.

His mistake was in opening his eyes.

With wakedness came the hollow feeling in Jackson's chest. In the past, no matter how much Jackson hurt, no matter how hopeless things felt, he had had the one, tiny sliver of hope at his center; but now, he felt completely alone. The hollowness _hurt_. Physically. Perhaps this was why they called it heartbreak. Jackson pulled the covers tighter around his body, wrapping himself in a cocoon, trying to shift his body and make the pain go away. But no matter which way Jackson turned or how close he held himself, the feeling of emptiness didn't leave.

Jackson wanted to cry, not just from his own sorrow but out of pity for what he had become. But he didn't have any tears left. He had cried with Merida, violently sobbing on his desk, until at last his tears began to subside into shorter whimpers, and Merida had gently told Jackson to go to bed, to get some sleep. Jackson had nodded his head and picked himself up, moving the few feet from his desk to his bed. But he didn't want to be alone, and Jackson had fallen asleep clutching his phone to his ear, Merida not speaking but simply _there_ for him. Jackson looked in front of him and saw his mobile laying where it had fallen after he had slipped into sleep.

Rolling over, the pale teen glanced at the clock opposite his bed. It was a quarter after five; he'd been asleep for almost five hours now, which explained why he felt groggy and disoriented as he tried to think. The events of the morning felt hazy, like they might have happened to another Jackson Overland; but the raw skin of his cheeks proved they had happened to this Jackson Overland, and that only poked at the tender hollowness inside of him.

This had been the longest day of his life, and he just wanted it to be over. Jackson screwed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sunlight, before giving up and pulling the blinds, plunging the room into a semi-darkness. But no matter how hard he tried, Jackson was stuck in this pain, and after ten minutes, he sighed, defeated.

He had been ignoring it since he woke up, but the crying had left his mouth dry. As he laid in the silence broken only by Bunnymund lapping water in his cage, Jackson finally gave up and slid out of bed, heading down the sunlit hallway and down the stairs. The feel of the cool wood on his bare feet as he reached the ground floor reminded him that he was indeed alive.

The sounds of the television were coming from the living room and as Jackson entered the kitchen, he peered through the doorway, seeing the outline of his little sister's head against the television. She was watching Nickelodeon and it was a repeat of an older Spongebob, but it seemed to still have her attention. Emma was only twelve years old, and she had started her first year of junior high at the same school Jackson had gone. The entire summer before she had begun, Jackson's stomach had been in knots and he worried almost every night that she would go through the same torture that he himself had. But as she started school she seemed blessed to escape all of that, to Jackson's immense relief.

Despite the quickly-dimming sunlight streaming in through the few unshuttered windows, the kitchen was familiar enough to Jackson that he didn't bother with the lightswitch, heading immediately for the cupboards to the left of the sink. As he opened it and pulled a cup out, the chink of glass gave him away.

"Hey Jackson," Emma called from the other room. He couldn't see her, but he was sure that she hadn't pulled her attention away from the screen.

"Hey shortstuff," Jackson called back, doing his best to sound as enthusiastic as he could. He didn't feel any better for it, but he didn't want his sister to find out.

Filling his glass with tapwater, he leaned against the counter and drank in the darkness. Emma, no doubt unsettled by the lack of a pounce from her brother and a chase around the television room, warily peeked her head into the kitchen, checking that her brother hadn't hidden himself in the darkness to strike. Jackson smiled back, giving a toothy grin that felt entirely unnatural but which he hoped passed for "happy."

"So, have a bad day?" his sister asked, stepping fully into the room. The darkness drained her of most of her colour, but Jackson was familiar with what she was wearing: her navy skirt, her brown silk shirt, but most importantly, her red-and-white striped socks that ran up past her knees, that clashed with the entire outfit but which she couldn't help but wear for a full week after they showed up clean in her dresser.

Jackson motioned to put the empty glass down, but then immediately picked it back up, needing to do something with his hands. "Nah," he shrugged off. "Why d'ya ask?"

"Well, because mom called, and she's making pasta and meatballs for dinner."

' _Shit_ ,' Jackson thought. That was his favourite meal, which he had for birthdays and big events and, were it up to him, holiday meals (even though Johanna insisted there was nothing festive about "simple Italian food"). But outside of that, Johanna only ever made a point of making the meal when she wanted her son to feel happy, at ease before she would bring up _the conversation_. It was her form of peace offering, to try and make Jackson feel calm while she gently tried to figure out what new hell her son had managed to incur upon himself.

Jackson groaned, rolling his eyes as he turned around to fill his cup with water, not quite thirsty anymore but not wanting to make eye contact at the moment. He stared out the window above the sink for a protracted moment in the silence, until Emma coughed behind him.

"Jackson?" she asked, quietly, from closer behind him.

"Yeah?" the boy asked, turning around. But he was cut off as his sister's head dug into his chest, and her arms wrapped awkwardly around him. The aching feeling in his chest tore open, feeling pity from Emma compounding Jackson's own. But the boy returned the hug, awkwardly as he was still holding the glass of water which now hovered over his sister's back. Any temptation the regular Jackson might have had to pour a small pinch down the back of her shirt wasn't in this Jackson, and both brother and sister recognized the absence.

"Come watch TV with me?" she asked, and Jackson nodded. Though she had offered to let her brother watch whatever he had wanted, the siblings continued to watch Nickelodeon; but Jackson couldn't lose himself in the television, and he found himself repeatedly thinking back to the glowing, and his body felt as though he were ready to vomit.

It wasn't until Spongebob had turned over to Danny Phantom that Jackson could hear the garage door opening from the other side of the house, followed by the sound of their mother's car. As the door opened up, Emma called out enthusiastically: "Hey mama!" Jackson echoed, a second after his sister, though with less heart.

"Hey guys," was the response as the door shut, and the sound of keys being thrown on the counter followed by a paper bag which Jackson presumed was filled with what would become dinner. The kitchen lights flickered on, and Emma dramatically groaned, crying out about the glare on the television and how she couldn't see anything, before rolling off the couch for good measure, kicking her brother on her way down.

From the kitchen, Jackson could hear the sounds of pots banging against each other followed by the sounds of running tap water. It didn't take long to prepare either the pasta or the meatballs, as long as the latter were the frozen gourmette kind, which Jackson always insisted they be; his mother was a wonderful chef, but absolutely not when it came to meatballs.

"Emma, why don't you go up and shower and get ready?" their mother called in from the other room. Emma had a habit of taking her daily showers before their dinner, insisting it was "the proven best time" in order for her hair to be the way she wanted it to be; Jackson, on the other hand, was convinced that it was so the twerp wouldn't have to help cook or set the table.

"Mom, after this show is over," Emma replied, feigning exasperation.

"Emm, dinner's going to be ready in twenty minutes."

"Hahhh, fine," she huffed, getting up and heading to the staircase through the kitchen so that she could give their mother a hug. The sounds of the footsteps up the stairs were replaced a minute later by the sound of the running shower.

The sound of packaging being torn apart and soft _plunk_ s of meat into water came from the other room, but no dialogue. Jackson continued to stare at the television, neither listening nor seeing what was happening on the screen. With his sister gone, he laid down on his side, but that only served to heighten the feeling of emptiness. Jackson stared at his empty water glass on the floor in front of him for a few minutes until the feeling of duty and obligation overtook him and, grabbing the glass, he emerged into the kitchen.

Johanna was standing at the counter, finishing folding the paper bag; on the stove boiled three pots, one each for the pasta, meatballs, and sauce. Opening the dishwasher and putting his glass on the top rack, Jackson washed his hands before moving to the right to grab three plates for dinner. As he turned around he had to dodge his mother, who was attempting to get in front of the stove again.

Jackson was roughly the same height as his mom; perhaps a little taller. The same chestnut hair that Jackson and Emma sported, Johanna had as well, and she wore it short, only letting it curve around her ears and down to the bottom of her chin. Jackson's blue eyes must have come from his father, as the eyes the glanced over at Jackson's were brown like his sister's.

Wordlessly slipping past his mother, Jackson set the three plates on the far side of the counter, one in front of each stool. There was a somewhat fancy table set just a few yards beyond the kitchen, but the family only ate there for special occasions; for regular meals, the three preferred to eat at the counter, finding it to be more intimate. Often times, Johanna would eat standing on the other side of the counter, in the kitchen, so that she could face her children, and the three would laugh and talk about their days. When he was younger, Jackson wondered what it would be like if their father were there, if dinners wouldn't always be at the dining table, if they would be as happy as their family dinners like this were; now though, Jackson didn't care to ever find out.

Returning to the kitchen proper to fill water glasses, Jackson was standing at the sink when his mother finally broke the silence.

"Are you okay?" she asked, doing her best to neither pry nor push. Jackson had known this was coming, and was only thankful that it was now, while his sister was upstairs.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he shrugged it off, trying to focus on filling the glasses in front of him.

"The school called and filled me in on some of what happened, but I'd rather hear it from you."

Jackson turned his back to his mother to set the table, finding it easier to talk to her about this while not seeing her.

"There was a guy, and he was bullying this girl because she was Muslim, and I stepped in to stop it. Mr. Prinsen came before it got too bad," he said brusquely, tired of rehashing the same event, especially because it wasn't what was weighing on him. But he couldn't tell his mother about the glow, about Hiccup, about how he felt dead on the inside now.

Johanna, for her part, was silent for a while. The school hadn't given details, but from what she had been able to make out from the call, it hadn't sounded like Jackson was being bullied. It surprised her somewhat to hear that her son had stood up to defend someone else, though in the end she supposed it wasn't a far stretch from the protectiveness that he showed for Emma. She was proud of her son for doing it, but all the same she wished that he hadn't been beaten up. Still, as she watched the crumpled shoulders of her son as he stood making busywork of the forks and knives, Johanna knew that this wasn't what had brought her son home from school. And she didn't know what that was, but something was consuming Jackson. Testing the waters, afraid that she was overstepping her bounds, Johanna finally asked what was on her mind.

"Something's bothering you."

Jackson straightened his back, looking over his right shoulder to face his mother, forcing a wide smile. "Nah, nothing's wrong with me."

"Is it… a girl?"

Jackson blinked and pulled his head back slightly, turning his body to alleviate the strain on his neck, shaking his head with a crooked, nervous smile.

"—a boy?"

"Mom!" Jackson yelped.

Johanna sighed, stirring the pasta that was threatening to boil over again. After the water died down, she looked back over at Jackson, who had a vacant look on his eyes as he stared off down the hallway under the staircase.

Jackson looked up as his mother approached him. When she embraced him, he didn't resist, but rather hugged her back without a word.

"Jackson, I love you, and I know that something is bothering you. But I'm not going to make you tell me if you don't want to. I just want you to know, that I'm here for you, and that I love you."

And Jackson sighed sadly, hugging his mother tight, but knowing that he could never tell her what he had told Merida. He hugged her back, wishing that he were little and that his mother could fix all of the problems, could kiss his pain away and make him smile and that everything would be safe so long as he stayed in his mother's arms. But all he felt as he held his mother was the emptiness in his chest, the pain that threatened to crack his ribs open.

"I know, mom. I love you too."


	8. Chapter 8

The bus ride to school passed Jackson by, who sat in a daze, his mind clouded. He tried to focus on the music that was playing in his ears, but there was no attachment he could feel; the minutes ticked by with songs simply starting and ending, until finally the bus arrived in the parking lot and Jackson gave up. Students milled about him as he moved in through the school doors, a group of two or three girls happily chatting brushing past Jackson. He could hear the words, but couldn't understand them.

It unnerved Jackson that he didn't feel anything. His mother had offered for him to stay home from school, and Jackson had declined the offer, but without a particular reason. Walking to his locker and attending classes felt more like a routine that he had to complete than something that he could feel emotions or have opinions about. There was no feeling in Jackson; everything simply was like a shade of grey, white, or black in this light of pre-dawn, and that would have been worrying, if Jackson felt capable of worrying.

Opening his locker, he emptied his backpack, retrieving his books for the next four periods. He picked up his gym shorts, expecting to feel a pang of fear at the idea of seeing Hiccup again; and it was there, but it felt distant, like it was an obligation he had to feel afraid, rather than actual fear itself. He stuffed the blue shorts in his backpack and closed the locker.

Jackson stood at his locker, turning left and right and looking around dumbly, trying to figure out where to go. Since his bus arrived early, most mornings he would wait the thirty minutes before the start of school in the library: reading ahead for his classes; or playing games on his DS huddled in a corner on the floor of the nonfiction section under a plastic potted tree. The latter was his favourite moment of the school day, when he was undisturbed and at peace, surrounded by the books and comfortable and safe. But neither of these options — in fact, nowhere that Jackson could think of — held any attraction to the teen. So he simply stood there. He contemplated going to Ms. Ana's room and sitting there to wait for class, but didn't feel like being around anybody at the moment, made to explain himself when he didn't want to — and couldn't.

And so, the bell marking the start of the school day found Jackson sitting under a concrete staircase in the far corner of the school, staring blankly at the corroded bricks and tapping at them absentmindedly.

By the time that Jackson arrived at history, most of the class was already sitting in their seats, with a few heads resting on the desk and trying to block out the fast-approaching day. Jackson moved along the edge, finding his seat at the front of the classroom, to the far left. Fishing his pencil and notebook from his bag, he opened to the last page of his notes and feigned rereading them, hoping that nobody would try to talk to him. Nobody did.

Jackson took notes, eyes following the motion Ms. Ana made around the room; but all of the words were lost on him. The charts and maps that she pulled down and carefully pointed to were just groups of colours to Jackson, and by the end of the class period, he found that he hadn't learned anything about the Russian monarchy in the seventeenth century. Sighing, he threw his backpack over his shoulder and pushed in his chair, making his way to the door with his fellow students.

"Oh, Jackson, can I speak to you for a moment?" Ms. Ana called after Jackson as he neared the doorway. Jackson groaned at the idea of interaction, but all the same turned and walked back to the teacher's desk.

Ms. Ana didn't waste any time; it looked to Jackson like whatever the teacher was about to say had been something she had thought over for a good while. "Jackson, as you might know, I'm the advisor for the film club on Thursdays after school." Jackson hadn't known this, but didn't let on. "It's suppose to be educational, but the movies the board chose are modern, and they had to do a bit of fudging to get the school board to approve of them. This week's movie is Terminator; I forget what exactly the discussion is suppose to be about."

Jackson doubted that there was much 'education value' to be gleaned from watching the Terminator, but didn't say anything. He already had a vague idea of why Ms. Ana must be telling him this, but he didn't trust himself with words to ask politely, and so dipped his head and blinked in as close a "Go on" motion as he could muster.

"And, well, I'd like you to come," she continued. "Provided you don't already have something after school." Jackson didn't, but likewise didn't feel like attending this club. Ms. Ana noticed his hesitation and spoke up before he could reject her offer. "I would really like it if you came. I can't force you, and I'm not going to try. But I really want to see you succeed, and in order to do that, I want to see you happy and interacting with the other students." Ms. Ana took a breath, continuing, visibly nervous yet trying to act in control. "You're really bright, but you seem so shy in class, and I'm not asking you this as a teacher, I'm asking you this as someone who cares about you."

From deep within him, Jackson felt a twinge of sadness; it was so dampened that it felt like it was still happening to someone else, but he knew objectively that it was his own emotions, locked away somewhere beyond where he could feel. Jackson released a breath through his nose. "What room is it in?"

Ms. Ana brightened, smiled, and told him.

* * *

As third period approached, Jackson felt trepidation at the thought of Hiccup. Although as Jackson thought about it, it wasn't so much what had happened yesterday that caused Jackson to be anxious about the punk, but rather that he didn't want to interact with any living person at all; Hiccup just happened to fall into that category. When he arrived at the gym, he threw his backpack on the floor, fished his shorts out of his backpack, and went to the locker room.

Jackson had managed to arrive early enough that there were only four or so other boys in the locker room, none of whom were the freckled boy Jackson wanted to avoid. Not wishing to press his luck, he quickly stripped out of his shirt, replacing it with the white one he had left in his locker the day before, and pulled his jeans off, donning his blue gym shorts. The cool air of the locker room caused the short, thin hairs on Jackson's legs to stand up, and he rubbed them quickly before tying his shoes, throwing his clothes in his locker and returning the padlock.

Returning to the gym, he was surprised to suddenly match Hiccup's gaze. The boy stood by the entrance to the hallway, clearly having arrived early (for him) as the bell hadn't even rung yet. But Ms. Avery was standing with her back to the wall a few feet from Hiccup, staring intently at the boy. When he saw Jackson, Hiccup's body tensed and he went to move, but Ms. Avery gave a loud _tisk_ , and the boy narrowed his eyes in obvious annoyance.

Confused and slightly embarrassed that he was now the centre of an unexpected scene, Jackson sped up the pace, moving down the hall and through into the gym. As he passed between Ms. Avery and Hiccup, Hiccup's arm gently moved, swaying intentionally to brush against Jackson's hand. It lasted for only a second, yet Jackson's chest suddenly felt vibrant. It felt like there were colours inside of him, somewhere far off, but bursting out all the same, accompanied by a strange burning sensation. Jackson pulled away quickly, glancing down anxiously to make sure that he wasn't glowing. The feeling dulled and passed.

" _Now_ you may go," Ms. Avery said, and Jackson watched as Hiccup hitched his hands in his pockets and made his way down the hallway, turning into the men's locker room. The look on Jackson's face must have been quizzical as Ms. Avery turned to face him.

"I know what happened yesterday," she explained nonchalantly. Jackson's eyes widened in fear and his pulse sped up. _'Oh God, how did she find out,'_ he wondered in abject horror. _'Did Hiccup tell her, or do they have cameras in the locker room, or did someone see? Shitshitshit.'_

"Just know that we have a zero tolerance policy for bullying in this class, and in this school, and that after you left I reported Harald to the office. Among other things, I'll be keeping an eye on him, and I'll make sure to keep him away from you in the future."

Jackson stared blankly at Ms. Avery, doing his best to process the information in as short a period of time as possible. Piecing the puzzle together, from what it sounded like, Ms. Avery seemed to think that Hiccup had attacked Jackson yesterday. And that must have been why they were late to class. And why Jackson had come out and gone to the nurse. And why he'd gone home. And, come to think of it, he had been very nervous looking after he had returned. Actually, this view seemed to conveniently explain away a lot of what Jackson didn't want to talk about. And to add to that, it gave Jackson the safety to not have to interact with the other boy during the only time of the day he saw him.

The only problem was that Hiccup was being punished for something he hadn't done. Jackson might not know the boy, might not even particularly like him (might even be afraid of him); but from what it sounded like, Hiccup was in pretty serious trouble for something he hadn't done. In fact, he had only been so late getting back to the gym because he had gone searching for a terrified Jackson in the first place.

But why was Hiccup in trouble at all? Surely he could have told the truth, and they might have believed him, or at least checked with Jackson if they didn't trust him at first. Jackson was _glad_ that Hiccup hadn't told anybody about what had happened in the locker room; but it didn't make sense. Was the boy ashamed of him? Or had he tried to tell the truth and they hadn't listened? Or had Hiccup gone along with the lie for some other reason? Was he trying to keep this a secret for Jackson?

That line of questioning had gone far enough, Jackson decided, and he shook his head, bringing himself out of his thoughts. Staring at Ms. Avery, Jackson refocused his eyes.

"Uh, t-thanks," he said, still perplexed by the situation and what it meant. But if Hiccup was willing to go through with this, Jackson wasn't going to argue; after all, it meant that things were just a slight bit easier now.

All the same, when Hiccup made eye contact with Jackson from across the gym during exercises, Jackson found it hard to return the gaze, and ducked his head.

* * *

Tuesday blended seamlessly into Wednesday, which in turn became Thursday with Jackson barely noticing a difference. The days were spent in the same grey cloud, the nights spent in the darkness creeping in through his bedroom window as he worked on his homework. Jackson tried playing Skyrim — tried playing _any_ video game — but couldn't settle on what to do. He found himself loading the game, only to walk around in circles for minutes, trying to figure out what he wanted to do, before sighing and turning the console off.

Luckily, school had been quiet. Jackson kept to himself, away from danger, and didn't speak much outside of answering questions from teachers. He kept his head down as he walked through the hallways, and he saw many pairs of shoes moving around the tiles of the school.

Thursday afternoon came eventually though, and with it Jackson found himself at his locker, tallying his homework in his mind and retrieving the necessary books. Over the past couple of days, he had debated in his mind whether he would go to the club meeting or not, though he knew he already had his answer. He didn't want to go and interact with strangers, but he had been asked directly by Ms. Ana, and he couldn't ignore that.

The hallways were mostly empty now that the final school bell had rung and the school buses were about to leave. As he made his way through the school towards the history wing, he passed two girls walking silently, and a tall, skinny teacher walking with purpose from the English wing. There wasn't anything to slow Jackson down, and soon enough he was standing a short distance from Ms. Ana's door, reading the "Room 151" placard while deciding whether to go in. At this point, he didn't have any other options, but that didn't mean he had to be eager.

Jackson took a breath, and then walked through.

Three pairs of eyes looked up at Jackson, whose face coloured quickly under the attention. At the front of the classroom, a brunette girl roughly Jackson's height was standing close to a boy who was significantly taller than the girl; their bodies were facing each other, and it looked quite clear that they had been talking before Jackson's entrance. Off to the side, a girl was sitting in a chair pulled away from its desk, and after looking Jackson once over, looked back at her phone and continued to tap at the screen.

The girl at the front, however, grinned a toothy smile and left the taller boy, making her way through the desks towards Jackson. Her hair was cut short in jags, framing her heart-shaped face, and as she neared, Jackson noticed just how large her green eyes seemed to be. 

"Hello!" she said with a smile that would have been disarming were Jackson not _so_ nervous. "Are you here for the movie club?"

"Yeah," Jackson replied, nodding his head perhaps too hard and for a shade too long.

"Wonderful! We don't usually get new members this time of the year, but I'm glad that you're here with us!" She said, her eyes seeming to shine even brighter, and Jackson wasn't sure how anybody could be this happy. "My name is Leighann; I'm the president, but that really just means that I start the discussions and press the play button.

"This," she continued, indicating the boy she had been talking to behind her, "is Flynn, my vice president. He's _supposed_ to be responsible for bringing snacks and helping make discussions questions, but he mainly just makes a lot of trouble for me," she finished with a glare in the boy's direction, and Flynn shrugged his shoulders, raising his hands in the process. Leighann turned her attention back to Jackson and grabbed the hand of the girl who had been on her phone; while Leighann had been speaking, the girl had put away the device and approached Jackson and Leighann. "And this is Amanda; she's not an officer, but she comes to all of our meetings and _she should apply for officer next year_ ," Leighann said, bumping Amanda's hip with her own. Amanda smiled back at Leighann, before extending her hand towards Jackson.

"Hi. I'm Amanda," she said, the smile still on her face. Brown eyes peered into Jackson's, and the boy took her hand.

"I'm Jackson," he replied, shaking her hand and letting go, feeling stiff and entirely out of place.

Leighann moved, though, wrapping her arm around Jackson's shoulder and turning so that she was flush with Jackson's side. "Well, Jackson, you're just in time to help us set up. Ms. Ana's off getting the popcorn right now, and most of the rest of the students will be here in a few minutes, so it's up to us to get the room ready." As Leighann spoke, Flynn and Amanda set to the task of moving the student desks to the sides of the room, the tall boy lifting them precariously high and making Jackson afraid he would break something. "We watch the movies on the projector, but sitting in the chairs is so uncomfortable, so we move the desks and lay on the floor," she explained, retracting her arm and starting on the desks in the back of the room. Jackson watched as Flynn picked up his desk from history at the front and moved it out of the way. Glad for the diversion of attention from him, Jackson followed Leighann in moving the desks to the side.

The four of them made short work of the desks, opening the centre of the room.

"Oh wow, you already have it done!" came Ms. Ana's voice from the doorway. Turning around, Jackson saw the history teacher balancing three large bowls of popcorn against her chest. When her eyes met Jackson's, they lit up, and she grinned a toothy smile. "Jackson," she said warmly. "You came."

"Hi, Ms. Ana," the pale boy responded, face colouring at being exposed.

Ms. Ana moved through the room, setting the bowls of popcorn on her desk; Flynn immediately grabbed a handful of the snack and shoved it in his mouth, eyeing Leighann as if issuing an unspoken challenge. Whatever it was, though, the girl wasn't going to give in. Ms. Ana, having watched the two, smiled and tapped Flynn on the shoulder. "Flynn, Amanda — would you two go to the teacher's room and get the beanbag and the sodas? There are two jugs on the bottom shelf of the fridge."

"Sure thing," responded Amanda.

Flynn nodded his head. "Yep," he said, and moved towards the door. As he approached Leighann, he smirked, staring into her eyes. "Rapunzel," he said affectionately, before purposefully bumping into her as he moved past.

Leighann pushed her hips back. "Flynn," she said in the same manner. Then the two students were gone, and Leighann and Jackson were left standing next to each other.

From the door, the sound of two students shuffling through could be heard as Jackson turned to face Leighann. "Ra...punzel?" he asked, quizzically.

The girl rolled her eyes, her lips turned in a crooked smile. "That's what he calls me, and he's gotten most of the students here to join in. When we first met, my hair was really long. Down to here," she said, bending her legs and drawing her palm flat against the backs of her knees. "So he started teasing me and calling me 'Rapunzel', and after I cut my hair, it only picked up more, because he thought he had won or something."

As if on a cue, from down the hall, they could hear Flynn's voice call out "Rapunzel!" followed by another teacher's voice saying "Don't yell in here," ironically loud. Leighann rolled her eyes and smiled at Jackson.

"Excuse me. I've got to bail out my useless vice president."

And with that, Jackson was left standing alone, feeling once again out of place, with his backpack still on his back. Removing himself from the heavy backpack, he set the bag on the floor in front of one of the relocated desks, before fishing his phone from his pocket; he didn't have any purpose at the moment, but he opened his text messages all the same and feigned concentration on a message from Merida earlier that day.

"Jackson!" came a loud voice from the doorway, and Jackson blinked twice in surprise before looking up in confusion. Jamie Bennett stood at the entrance to the room, a blue and white stripped pillow tucked under his right arm. The boy walked across the room towards Jackson, wide smile displaying the gap between his front teeth that the braces were likely supposed to be fixing.

Jackson felt nothing but relief at seeing the boy. They had only worked together those three days on the chemistry lab, but this was somebody that he knew in a room full of strangers. And though it had been a short time, Jackson had enjoyed the other boy.

"I haven't seen you here before," Jamie said as he reached Jackson, slipping his backpack and coat off before tossing them down with a loud _thud_ next to Jackson's own.

"Yeah, I'm new here, I guess," Jackson replied, turning his phone off and sliding it into his pocket.

"Well, welcome then. You joined us for a good movie."

"Uh, if you don't mind me asking, what's with the pillow?" Jackson asked. In the past few minutes, a couple of other students had arrived, and most of them had pillows with them as well.

Jamie nodded, turning partway towards the opening in the centre of the room. "Oh, well, we lay on the floor while we watch the movies. And it can be kind of uncomfortable sometimes. We've only been doing this — pushing the desks aside, laying on the floor — for the past year, since Rapunzel — oh, have you met Leighann?" Jackson nodded his head that he had. "Ok, good. Well, when Rapunzel — uh, Leighann, I mean — when she took over, she thought it'd be a lot more fun this way, and it is, but around October, we decided to start bringing pillows. Before that point, we'd just lay against our backpacks, and it was getting really uncomfortable. And Ms. Ana brought in a beanbag that they keep in the teacher's lounge, and each week someone different gets to use that. I don't think it's _that_ much more comfy, but most of the others here would poison each other if it meant they got a turn in it. I think it's a pride thing at this point."

A large shape at the doorway caught both of the boy's attention. A huge, blue vinyl blob, just marginally smaller than all of Jackson himself, pushed against the door frame, but only managed to hit the wall. From behind the beanbag came a muffled voice. "Gahdammit."

"Flynn!" called Ms. Ana, but there was as much amusement as authority in her voice all the same.

With the help of one of the boys who had been standing nearby, Flynn managed to get the beanbag into the room, throwing it down with a loud thud. Immediately, the boy who had helped bring it in jumped onto it, splaying his limbs out across the surface. Flynn looked down at the boy unamused, before grabbing the corner of the beanbag and rolling it over so that the traitor was pinned between it and the floor. Flynn then lowered himself onto the beanbag with some care so as not to injure the boy, but quickly relaxing and putting his arms behind his head.

"Rider, get up," said Leighann as she entered through the doorway with four litres of soda in her hands. Amanda followed behind her with a stack of styrofoam cups and plates. Flynn rolled his eyes before getting up, moving the beanbag and helping up the boy who was gasping for air dramatically. Leighann set the soda down at the front beside the popcorn before turning to face the assembled students.

"Alright, well, it looks like most of you guys are here, so I think we can begin," she said, and Flynn traded places with Amanda, standing next to the shorter brunette. "Welcome to Movie Club. As you guys know, tonight is Terminator, and we're going to watch the movie and follow it up with a discussion about how science fiction of the late 1900s painted the future as bleak and what it meant about how America saw the future of technology. So just, keep that in mind while you're watching. Also, just a brief announcement: the t-shirts were ordered and should be here within the next few weeks for everyone who purchased one. And our bake sale is scheduled for the last week of February, so please make sure not to forget to sign up on the Facebook group with what you're planning to make." Leighann clapped her hands to punctuate her statement, and the students began to spread out across the room, moving their backpacks and placing their pillows against their bags before resting themselves against them.

But three of the guys — one of them Flynn — stood around the beanbag. After a beat, Flynn spoke up: "So, 'punzel. Who gets the seat of honour today? Your dashing prince, or one of _these_ two?"

Leighann rolled her eyes. "You know what, how about none of you. How about you be polite for once and let our new member use it?"

All eyes in the room turned to face Jackson, and the boy wanted to be anywhere else right now. Ten pairs of eyes were trained on him, and Jackson did his best to not make contact with any of them. In particular, he tried to avoid the eyes of the three surrounding the cushion; there wasn't hostility from them, but it was clear that they weren't overly enthusiastic about this turn of events as well.

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Jackson spoke up. "N-nah, it's fine. I'm good with laying on the ground. Let one of them have it." He might not have a pillow or a blanket like some of the others, but he wanted anything but that beanbag; it would be nothing but a throne for his discomfort.

"Are you sure?" Leighann asked, and when Jackson nodded, she smiled warmly before returning to look at the three boys. "Alright, well if that's the case..." she sighed. "I'm going to _have_ to give it to Flynn." At the sound of two disappointed groans, she spoke up quickly. "ONLY because you both have had it the past three times."

Flynn turned to the other two and grinned triumphantly, before jumping down on the beanbag and spreading out, making a point of loud contented noises as he rolled around. The other two grabbed their backpacks and joined the rest of the crowd.

Jackson stood next to Jamie, feeling genuinely out of place among these friends. As he watched a couple of students eating popcorn, and another laughing until soda shot from his nose (earning both peels of laughter and cries of disgust from the surrounding members), Jackson felt that he was intruding on something private. This wasn't meant for him. He didn't belong here, no matter what Ms. Ana might believe. Jackson's head sunk, and he stared at the ground.

A hand rested on his shoulder, and Jackson looked up towards Jamie. The boy was smiling fondly at him, and Jackson had to avert his gaze for a second.

"Hey, come on. You don't have a pillow. Let me share mine this week, as long as you promise to bring your's next time."

Jackson smiled weakly, but nodded his head.


	9. Chapter 9

Two hours later, Jackson Overland and Jamie Bennett were waving goodbye to the members of the Movie Club; Leighann sat on one of the desks next to where Flynn was still sprawled out across the beanbag. Three of the boys were hovering over the popcorn bowl, emptying the contents onto their plates and vying to see which of them could eat the most. There was a large smile across Leighann's face as she called after them, inviting Jackson to return the next week.

He felt somewhat out of place, but was surprised that he had enjoyed himself. Being in a dark room for most of the time and watching a movie had saved him from needing to interact with anybody; there was companionship, but he wasn't forced to make conversation with strangers. Jamie had whispered to Jackson for the majority of the movie, favouring his own impression of Schwarzenegger, and more than once Jackson had been forced to cover his mouth and dry heave into the crook of his arm to keep from bursting out laughing. Not that anybody would have minded. As it was, the room was far from silent during the movie; when the students would get too rowdy, one of the boys in the back would huff in annoyance, but all of the students would cry out once or twice. When the movie had finished, Ms. Ana left the room and hadn't returned; Jamie explained to Jackson that she stayed for the movies, enjoying watching them, but left when it came time for the discussions, to make it feel less like a classroom and easier for the students to talk. The discussion had only lasted for thirty minutes or so, and had been pretty standard fare for what Jackson had expected of it, but he shocked himself (and from the looks of it, Jamie) by quietly rebutting the wild hypotheses one of the boys (Michael, if Jackson remembered correctly).

Jackson was surprised, but he actually wanted to go again next week. He knew this more than he could feel it, as his mind still felt like a colourless slate; but there had been a calmness in Jackson while he was laying there next to Jamie and watching the movie. Jackson felt so thankful that the boy had shown up; having Jamie there was what had really caused Jackson's feeling of security.

"So, what'd you think, huh?" Jamie asked as the two boys rounded the corner, starting the long walk towards the front of the building.

"I had fun," spilled out of Jackson's mouth automatically. But it felt hollow, one of his stock phrases, and Jackson shook his head to clear it before following up, trying to convey an actual emotion. "I mean, uh, I liked it, and I'd like to go again." He tried to continue, but that felt about as much as he could articulate.

But it seemed to be enough for Jamie, who smiled at Jackson. "Good," he said, allowing their walk to lapse into a momentary silence. "Your mom picking you up?" he asked after a few steps.

"Yeah. I should probably call her now; it'll take her a while to get here."

"Ahh, man. I can wait with you if you'd like."

"Are you not being picked up?" Jackson questioned.

"I live ten minutes away, so I just walk home most days. The buses wind up taking me twenty minutes to get home, between waiting for all the other kids and then the traffic."

Jackson nodded his head before remembering that he had been asked a question. "Oh, no, you don't have to wait with me. You can head on home."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I've got math homework I can start, and like five chapters of _The Scarlet Letter_ to read for tomorrow that I should have done yesterday."

"Oh, who do you have for English?"

The two boys chatted amiably as they walked, and Jackson felt himself become more and more animated the longer they spoke. Jamie, for his part, seemed to be easily excitable, if not perhaps a bit forgetful (Jackson had to remind him of their chemistry homework due tomorrow, much to his amusement).

"Alright, well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow," Jamie said as they reached the front office. Both boys stopped walking, standing in the middle of the hallway.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow," Jackson replied, before looking down at his feet for a second. "And, uh, thanks. For, uh, being here. It was really helpful having someone I knew there," he said, his voice trailing off into a barely audible whisper.

Jamie clapped a hand onto Jackson's shoulder causing the pale boy to look up. "Don't mention it. That's what friends are for," he said, a smile behind his words. "See you in Chemistry tomorrow."

Jackson perked up, smiling back even as they began to move apart, Jackson walking towards the front office and Jamie towards the bus ramp where he'd be able to get home from.

"Don't forget about the lab report!" Jackson called after Jamie.

"I won't!" the other boy yelled over his shoulder in response.

Smile still on his face, Jackson turned and moved into the waiting area of the front office, setting his bookbag on the floor beside one of the empty chairs before retrieving his mobile from his pocket.

"Hey Mom, can you come pick me up? I'm at school. — Yeah, everything's fine. I just stayed after to go to Movie Club. — Oh, uh, we just watch movies and then talk about them afterwards. — Terminator. — Yeah, I enjoyed it a bit. I thought the acting was kinda overdone, though. — Heh, yeah, that's for sure. — Alright, well, I'll see you then. — Love you too."

Hanging up the phone, Jackson returned the device to his pocket. His mother was still at work, so it would be half an hour or so until she would be able to pick him up. Settling himself in his chair, Jackson stretched his back against the hard surface before bending over to open his backpack and pull out his math homework.

Four minutes in, though, it became apparent that Jackson was going to need a calculator for this. At home he had his own in his room, and so he left the one he used at school in his locker every day. Stuffing the paper and textbook back into his backpack, Jackson threw his coat on, followed by his backpack, and set off in the direction of his locker to retrieve the device.

School had been out for a while by this point, and the hallways were completely deserted as Jackson walked towards his locker bay. The sunlight streaming in from the windows that lined the walls on one side illuminated the dust that hung in the air, giving Jackson the vague feeling that he was drowsy and that this was all just a dream. Everything still felt grey inside, but Jackson was calm enough that he probably could take a nap.

That changed the instant a hand grabbed him by the side, coming out of nowhere and shoving Jackson up against the wall of windows. Jackson was so caught off guard that it took a moment to adjust back to reality, as the girl spun him around to face him, pushing Jackson as far back against the wall as his backpack would allow him.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" she asked, voice dripping with venom. Jackson's eyes were wide, trying to take in the scene, trying to figure out what was happening to him. His mind felt groggy, but he was sure he had seen this girl before. Something about her blonde hair, braided down her neck, and her pointed chin that could probably cut Jackson seemed familiar.

"I— uh— what?" he stammered out.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, getting Hiccup detention for beating you up? Hiccup would never beat somebody up unless they were asking for it," she breathed, her voice surprisingly level for the amount of anger that her words seemed to carry. Her eyebrows pushed together and her eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"

He knew he had seen her before. Oh god, this was that girl who had been with Travis on Monday morning. What was her name? As- As- Ashley? Asta? Aztec? No, definitely not that one.

But hell, whatever her name was, she was pissed; that much was apparent.

"Look, I— I don't—," he tried to say, but couldn't think of any excuses. In truth, he didn't have any; Hiccup _hadn't_ beaten him up, and it was entirely Jackson's fault that Hiccup was in detention right now. Jackson couldn't think of a convincing lie at the moment, and he was not going to use the truth here.

"Spit it out already!" she snarled, shaking Jackson by the grip she had on the front of his shirt. She might not look like much, but she seemed to have an immense amount of power at her disposal, and all of that was directed at Jackson right now.

"Astrid, woah, woah! Slow down! Let him go!" came a gravelly voice from over Astrid's (that was her name!), from over Astrid's shoulder. Both heads turned to face the newcomer, and Jackson's heart sank; at this point, he'd prefer to be beaten up by Astrid and get it over with.

Hiccup was walking towards the pair with some speed, his left arm wiping water from his mouth before falling to make a calming motion directed at the girl. His green eyes flicked to Jackson's momentarily but then darted back to Astrid.

Astrid's grip on Jackson's shirt loosened a bit, but remained in place.

"Hiccup, what? This loser got you detention. Don't you want—"

"Astrid, no, it's fine. Calm down, I've got this," he responded, coming to a stop when he stood next to the girl, placing his hand on her shoulder. Astrid took a deep breath, expelling air angrily from her nose, before releasing Jackson's shirt and turning to face Hiccup.

"Hiccup, come on! You know you don't deserve detention. He lied, and you're just going to let him get away with it? You have to stand up for yourself!"

"Astrid, he didn't lie. He didn't tell anybody that I beat him up," Hiccup responded, facing Astrid. Jackson felt confused watching the pair talk amongst themselves, still too disoriented by the suddenness of the whole situation to be able to leave. He felt ignored by both of them — which was good; he didn't want to be noticed by them — but he would have preferred to feel ignored a few miles away from here.

"What do you mean he didn't tell anyone that you beat him up? If he didn't, then who did?" Astrid responded, her anger now directed at Hiccup; to his credit, the boy didn't balk the same way that Jackson had.

"No one did. It's a really complicated story. Look, I'll try to explain later. But right now isn't the time for that," Hiccup said, his face and voice neutral. Astrid cocked her head, and annoyance shone from the side of her face that Jackson could see, but after a tense moment, she nodded her head tersely.

"Alright Hiccup," she said, before thrusting her finger against his chest. "But you're going to explain this to me later. You've been acting strange all week."

Hiccup hunched his shoulders, but kept his eyes on Astrid. "Fine." Despite the situation, there was no confrontation in his voice. "Uh, can you go back at watch our stuff?" he asked, a brief nod towards Jackson as he spoke. After a beat, Astrid simply walked off in the direction that Hiccup had come from, disappearing between the rows of the locker bay.

When she was out of sight, Hiccup's shoulders relaxed, and the boy took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he inhaled and opening them as he exhaled it. His head turned, then, towards Jackson, who still stood against the wall where Astrid had thrown him, feeling entirely confused by the situation.

"Hey," Hiccup said after a moment of quiet, his voice seeming to fall flat in the once-again noiseless hallway.

The moment lapsed into an awkward silence, neither boy looking at the other, Hiccup making subtle glances towards Jackson, looking away before he stared too long; Jackson looked anywhere but, trying to figure out a way to avoid what was happening.

There wasn't one.

"Hi," Jackson finally said, staring off further down the hallway, making a point of not looking at Hiccup. He tried his best to keep a level tone, to not betray any emotion, but all the same his response ran thick with annoyance and distaste. Hiccup winced at the harshness coming from the pale boy.

"So, uh, you've met Astrid, I see. She's really a nice girl. I mean, she has a tendency to hurt people, probably more often than she intends to. Watch out for her punch, bud. It's pretty mean, even—"

"What do you want?" Jackson cut him off, finally bringing his eyes back to meet Hiccup's. Displeasure and impatience shone across his face, and there was no mercy in his eyes.

The question caught Hiccup off guard. He hadn't thought that he had been acting wrong. "Huh?"

"What do you want from me?" Jackson demanded, growing visibly angrier in front of Hiccup. "Do you want me to thank you for saving me from her?"

Hiccup balked, taken aback by the question, blinking twice.

"Because I don't see why I should be thanking you. She was about to beat me up because of you. So, big whoop, you saved me; but if it weren't for you, she wouldn't have in the first place, so really, you saved me from yourself. Is that supposed to make you a hero?" Jackson seethed, surprising even himself with the venom that was coming from him. He hadn't realised that he had this anger inside him, until suddenly everything that had previously been grey and dull became a broiling mass of reds and fires and he wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around the other's neck and squeeze, and he was just so _furious_. " _What do you want from me._ "

Hiccup stared at the other boy dumbly, entirely surprised by the animosity that was directed at him. In the brief moments as he calmed Astrid, dozens of conversations had formed themselves in the boy's head, but none of them were like this. Hiccup found he couldn't answer, and scrambled, trying to formulate a response. Jackson's expression flattened, and he turned to leave.

Hiccup reached out and gripped Jackson's shoulder, forcibly turning him and pushing his back against the wall again.

"Now wait the _fuck_ up," Hiccup said, staring with incredulous anger at the other boy. "You're just going to leave like _that_?"

"Oh, so you _do_ want something from me, don't you?"

"Well, yes— no— fuck, I don't know. But do you have any idea how big an _ass_ you are being right now?"

"Oh! _I'm_ being an ass! Oh— oh yeah!" Jackson scoffed. A white-hot rage burned inside of him, and he could feel the muscles in his arms tense, fury coursing through them. "So your girlfriend just _happened_ to almost beat me up. But no, no— _I'm_ being the ass, because I don't think you're my, my, my saviour!"

Hiccup's mouth opened, his head cocking to the side. "She is _not_ my girlfriend!" He spoke faster, cutting Jackson off before he could retort. "Du- what is your problem?!"

" _YOU'RE_ MY PROBLEM," Jackson shouted back, louder than he had intended. For all the anger that was consuming him, he didn't want to bring Astrid back. This clarity cooled his mind, but only marginally. "Why don't you just leave me ALONE?"

" _I HAVE BEEN_." Hiccup head vibrated, and his arms shot up, wanting to grip at his hair.

"Oh, okay; so I'm free to go now, is that right? I can just, I can just walk away, right now." Jackson turned to his left, motioning to leave. Immediately, Hiccup grabbed him and tossed him back, perhaps with more force than he had intended. "Ah, see? That's what I thought."

" _NO!_ Just—"

"You know, I don't see how you holding me hostage is supposed to make me like you any more. It's not exactly endearing to have you keeping me here against my will, and—"

Despite all of his anger, Jackson abruptly stopped, most of the ire dissipating from inside him as he took in the form of the freckled boy in front of him, head hung but tears visibly streaming down his cheeks, his shoulders moving in poorly-concealed quivers. His mind felt torn, as he watched this boy — nearly all black; leather vest; piercings and a faint scar along his chin — crying before him. Suddenly there was nothing Jackson could say, and from somewhere within himself, a part of him ached.

"Just—" Hiccup's voice came through, the tears evident in his voice. "Do you have _any_ idea what it's been like? Just— I've tried to— but nothing! You still hate me, and I—" Hiccup's hands came up, pressing against his temples, fingers carding through his bangs. " _I just wanted to talk to you._ "

What little anger had been left in Jackson died. All he wanted to do was comfort the boy, because it pained him to see someone crying, and more so to know that he had caused it. But he couldn't; that wasn't meant for now. His arms hung uselessly by his side.

"I— I know I'm not what you want. I'm not attractive; or I'm not a girl; or, or, maybe, maybe I just _scare_ you; I don't know," Hiccup went on, moving his hands down to press the palms against his teary eyes. "I just hoped, maybe if we _talked_ , I, I don't know..."

Hiccup dried his eyes with the crook of his wrist before wiping at the dampness on his cheeks. As he looked up, his green eyes darted away, looking anywhere but at Jackson. And that was when Jackson noticed: Hiccup's eyes were red, raw looking; he'd clearly been crying more than this. In his anger earlier, he hadn't seen it before now.

Neither boy broke the silence that ensued. Jackson wanted desperately to say something, but he didn't know what. With the fire inside him gone he found that he could feel again, but he didn't know what to feel anymore. His world had spun, from apathy to a chaotic storm of emotions, and everything felt new and strange to Jackson. As Hiccup's shoulders slumped more and more, however, Jackson couldn't stay quiet; he had to say something.

"I don't—" he began, but Hiccup cut him off.

"You, when we stood there, you just had this look of complete fear; I saw you, and it was like, like I had stabbed you. And when I went back, and Avery accused me of beating you up, I just, I told her I did. Just because you were so afraid. You were ashamed. I'm, I'm useless, but, I don't know. I thought I could help you. Maybe, help you somehow. I..."

A lump had begun to form in Jackson's throat, and when Hiccup glanced briefly at Jackson, the pale boy looked away quickly, unable to maintain the eye contact. When he looked back a moment later, those green eyes were pointed elsewhere.

"Hic— Har— I don't—" Jackson began, but Hiccup spoke again.

"You're right. You don't owe me anything. And if I've been trying to do all of this just to get something from you, then I'm not exactly being selfless here. You just, you looked so scared."

There was a long moment before Jackson spoke, and when he did, it was in a quiet, faltering voice.

"Were you not?"

Hiccup let out a breath as he gave a pained smile, locking eyes briefly with Jackson before looking away. It was so short, and yet so long, when Hiccup finally spoke, that it hung in the air as though Jackson could reach out and touch the word.

" _No_."

The sensation of the world slightly spinning and his head feeling light brought Jackson to his senses, making him realise that he hadn't been breathing properly for a while now. He was surprised that his legs had held out for this long without dropping him under what felt like his ever-increasing weight.

Jackson felt like he needed to ask, to say something now. This — _everything_ — had been his fault. He had so many questions spinning around him, but every one that he latched onto was something that Hiccup had already answered: ' _Why did you do this for me?_ '; ' _Why are you still?_ '; ' _Why—?_ '; 'Why?'. Inside, his mind tore against itself, trying to figure out what to do and what to say, and finding nothing.

With the silence, Hiccup closed his eyes, bending his head down in a look of acceptance.

"No— please," Jackson spoke up. The boy had done so much for him — so much more than Jackson deserved — and now he was simply going to accept this. "No— just— I, I don't— don't know what..."

Hiccup looked up but didn't speak.

"You don't know me and, and I don't know you."

Hiccup broke the gaze he had with Jackson, looking to the side. "Do you want to?" he asked in a level voice, but there was still pain along the edges of the words.

"Huh?" Jackson asked, and Hiccup matched his gaze once more.

"Would you want to get to know me? If I asked, would you want to talk with me? If I gave you my number, would you want it?" he asked, eyes unreadable and only slowly focusing on him.

Jackson faltered. Hiccup was offering him his phone number, but there was so much more. Whether he took it or not, there was so much more. If Jackson took the phone number, Hiccup would expect him to use it, to talk to him, and Jackson didn't know what he felt about that. He didn't know what he felt at all. It was just a question, but Hiccup didn't want to answer now, didn't want to answer any time soon. He wanted to be able to have time, and he resented the question for looming over him, for being voiced and demanding a response.

Jackson looked up at Hiccup. He didn't have to shake his head to answer.

From his pocket, Jackson could feel his phone vibrating. Every muscle in his body seemed to be tense as he reached for it, pulling it out and putting it up to his ear in a painfully mechanic motion.

"H-hello? — Yeah, okay. I'll be right there. — See ya."

He wasn't sure why he had bothered to look up at Hiccup; the boy wasn't looking at him, and it only hurt more to see him. But he felt like he owed him this much, to not simply walk off.

"I, uh, my mother's outside... I, need to go now," he said, hating every word that came from his mouth, because none of it was right.

Hiccup simply nodded his head, not looking up from his feet. His body was perfectly still. Jackson squeezed his own eyes shut tightly, not wanting to see or acknowledge anything in reality anymore.

"I'm sorry," Jackson said, standing there a few seconds longer, unsure what to do, knowing that this wasn't enough. Unable to handle it any more, Jackson turned, leaving Hiccup standing there, and didn't look back. As he passed the lockers, he saw from the corner of his eye Astrid standing awkwardly next to a set of packs, and as he walked down the hall towards the front office, he couldn't tell if it was just her stare on his back or if there were actual blades embedding themselves in his flesh. Jackson wasn't sure which one would be worse.

Jackson Overland passed through the front entrance of the school without stopping.


	10. Chapter 10

Jackson laid on his bed, arms behind his head, staring out the window at the sun setting to the west. It wasn't a single fixed point that he was gazing into, but rather letting the hues of yellows and purples and reds distract him from his own thoughts. This had been the longest week of his life — unfathomably so. Time had begun to unravel, and it felt like an eternity had come and died. It was Thursday night though, which meant that the week was almost over. The sun only needed to set and rise once more and then Jackson would be free.

And yet Jackson knew: the week might be over, but these problems wouldn't leave him.

It had been difficult, focusing on his homework after Johanna had brought him home; more than once he found himself pacing around his room, anxiety and nerves in his every step, without noticing that he had even stood up. Already his homework had taken him nearly an hour longer than it should have, and he was on his bed, trying to read through _The Scarlet Letter_ , but the indistinct whispers in his mind wouldn't let him concentrate.

Covering his eyes with his palms and taking a deep breath, Jackson returned to the book that sat open, face-down against his chest. 'Such was the ruin to which she had brought the man, once,—nay, why should we not speak it?—still so passionately loved! Hester felt that the sacrifice of the clergyman's good name, and death itself, as she had already told Roger Chillingworth,' _Hiccup, staring at his feet, tears running down his face._ 'and death itself, as she had already told Roger Chillingworth,' _Bloodshot green eyes staring up at him, but his own voice, cold as stone._ 'she had already told Roger Chillingworth, who would have been infinitely preferable to,' _Words echoing in his own mind, from his own mouth, watching as the green eyes began to shine less brightly._

Jackson allowed the book to fall against his chest as he cupped his mouth with both hands, eyes closing. When he reopened them, the sun was still in the same position it had been. Time didn't pass for Jackson any longer.

"Jackson?" came a voice from the doorway, and Jackson rolled his head on his pillow to face his sister.

"Yeah?" he asked, brushing at the thoughts in his mind, trying to clear them away.

Emma stepped shyly into the room, her back against the wall, afraid that she didn't belong. Ever since she had been able to walk, Emma had always felt free to run into Jackson's room, to throw herself on his bed or bother him with homework, or marvel at him playing games or to steal Bunnymund away from him for tea parties. When she had been young, Emma had been afraid of the Boogeyman, terrified of the dark, afraid that she would wake up and she would be all alone. That he would have taken her mother and Jackson, just like her daddy. Jackson had held her when her muffled crying woke him up, and Johanna had found Jackson curled up with Emma in bed the next morning. And from that day, Jackson had slept with his door open every night, so that he could always come and protect his sister from the Boogeyman.

But all that felt like it was changing. It felt that Jackson was growing distant. There were no longer just brick and plaster walls in the house, but the ones that Jackson was erecting around himself, and Emma felt truly alone for the first time in her life.

Emma didn't look up at Jackson. She held her composure, but it wouldn't last if she had to look at her brother.

Jackson stared at his sister, against the wall of his bedroom, still dwarfed as always by the desk that she stood next to. As the girl shifted under her brother's eyes, he noticed that she was trying to make her presence smaller, and that it wasn't just in size that the room seemed to loom over her.

"Emm..." Jackson began, but his sister looked up at her name, and it felt like a blow to Jackson's stomach. He had seen these eyes, the hurt and uncertainty that radiated from them, already once today. Jackson bolted upright, the movement startling his sister to a jump.

"What's wrong?" Jackson asked, undecided even as he spoke whether to sound demanding or consoling. At once, Emma's eyes darted back to the ground, and silence filled the room before Jackson said, less certain this time: "Emma?"

Emma's focus remained on her feet, noticing how her toes dug into the white carpet of the floor.

"Something's wrong, Jackson," she stated, and after a moment, in a quieter voice: "With you."

"W-what do you mean, Emma?"

"You've begun to feel distant. You're quiet at dinners now, and you don't come and watch TV with me." Now that she had begun, the words were easier to grasp at and Emma sped up, wanting to get all of her feelings out while she still could. "You don't tease me anymore. Whenever I see you, you're looking off into the distance, standing in the dark, or you just look _sad_. You stay up in your room all night, and I'm afraid, Jackson."

Emma's voice began to break slightly, but she was determined to finish. "I won't tell mom, no matter what. I promise. But please, Jackson. Tell me what's wrong.

"Don't leave me."

Jackson watched as his sister's shoulders slumped, the tension releasing from them as she finished speaking. Jackson realised in that moment that even though he didn't know what to say, how to tell his sister, he knew what to do.

"Emma," he spoke softly, and his sister looked up. Jackson's arms were already raised towards her, and the young girl broke out into a relieved smile as she ran the short distance and threw herself into her brother's arms, the force of the impact toppling the two siblings back on Jackson's bed. Instinctively, Jackson raised his own shoulders, curling slightly around his sister's head to protect her from hitting the wall.

The two laid in silence on the bed, neither speaking, but neither feeling that they needed to. In the quiet, the comfort of being close — physically, but more importantly, emotionally — sank into each of them, and Emma's breathing began to level out as her body relaxed. Finally, though, Jackson spoke, even while his sister breathed against his collarbone.

"I think I've hurt someone. A lot."

"What did they do?" Emma asked after a moment, voice free from judgment.

Jackson's eyes had been closed, but he opened them now, staring at the ceiling of a room darker than he remembered it being. He turned his head, looking out the window. The sun had set, the sky now a mix of violets and blues. Jackson took a breath.

"Nothing."

* * *

Jackson sat on the bus, staring out the window, unsure how he felt as the backpack on his lap pushed against his stomach. The emotionless haze that he had lived in was broken, but Jackson still felt confused and overwhelmed. His music played in his ears, but he couldn't find the right song for his mood. He was a mix of emotions, none of which he could label or pinpoint as being any more dominant than the others.

The school bus pulled into the high school parking lot, and Jackson entered through the bus ramp doors, heading for his locker. The fluorescent lights from above stung his eyes as he walked in out of the darkness of the early morning outside. His eyelids slid shut as he shuffled through the hallways, and when he reached his locker, he sank to the floor, allowing himself to lean against the locker as he rested. He hadn't slept a peaceful rest for a week now.

A hand shaking his shoulder brought the boy out of his sleep.

"I'm sorry, but I need to get into my locker here," came the quiet voice of the girl whose locker was blocked by Jackson's backpack, which had shifted while the boy slept. Jackson hadn't even been aware he had fallen asleep. Nodding tiredly, he moved out of the way, standing up and opening his own locker.

As he prepared his backpack for the coming classes, Jackson's mind began to wander. With his eyes closed, it had been easy — and he had expected — to see Hiccup standing over him, trying to get his attention the way he had the day before. He felt relieved and yet strangely, vaguely disappointed that the hand had not belonged to the brown-haired punk.

Yet another thought struck him. He had been open, visible, and from the looks of it, asleep for a good ten minutes. He didn't know where it was, but Hiccup's locker was sure to be in this same area; lockers were grouped by grade, after all. After what had happened yesterday, Jackson — by all rights — deserved to be beaten by Astrid, or Trevor, or perhaps Hiccup himself. Jackson wasn't entirely sure he would even put up a defense. But there had been nothing. No one had sought him out, no threatening messages were left in his locker, nothing.

Jackson tried, but he couldn't figure it out. He couldn't figure _himself_ out. The only reasonable explanation that Jackson could think of was that after yesterday, Hiccup had given up on him, and that was the end of everything. Hiccup simply didn't care about Jackson anymore, not even enough to beat up Jackson, even if he deserved it. Which he did. And Jackson should have felt relieved at that though, happy even. And yet he felt awful.

Throughout history and chemistry, Jackson tried to concentrate on what the teachers were saying; the past week had already left him more confused about the lessons than he ever would have liked to be. But in the back of his mind, his thoughts were restless.

Was he sad that Hiccup had given up on him? Giving up wasn't unfathomable; the glowing was supposed to show you the person you would be best suited for, but it was up to the people to make the relationship work. Some soulmates simply couldn't. It figured that Jackson wouldn't be able to; and after what he had done to Hiccup yesterday... But as Jackson walked to third period, he realised he was also worried just to _see_ the other boy. Even if Hiccup didn't care about Jackson at all, Jackson wasn't sure he would be able to interact with Hiccup without it being awkward, painful even.

Yet as he entered the gym, then changed, then waited for class to begin, there was no sign of the other boy. Ms. Avery began taking attendance and Hiccup had still not shown up.

Even in this early stage of the semester, it seemed that Ms. Avery had memorised most of the students by name; it was somewhat impressive that, as the students performed their warmup stretches, the gym teacher would read off their names, gazing up and around the group before nodding and checking off her sheet. "Eddie. Elizabeth. Lauren? Is Lauren here?" From the back of the group, one of the students called out that she wasn't, and Ms. Avery marked something on her clipboard. "Haddock is sick," she muttered to herself, before continuing.

But Jackson didn't hear anything else that she said after those three words. His concentration broke, and as the students around him shifted into different stretches, Jackson fumbled along, always a full step behind the group.

' _Haddock is sick._ ' Hiccup wasn't here at school today. His parents must have called the school and let them know. And that was it: Hiccup had been many things yesterday, but he hadn't been sick.

The more Jackson thought, the slower he moved, and the din of the students standing up and beginning to jog echoed around him as he pulled himself up.

Hiccup wasn't here at school. That was why he hadn't tried to beat Jackson up earlier. That was why nothing had happened yet. But Hiccup wasn't sick; he hadn't been even the slightest bit sick. But the school thought he was; he wasn't here because he was sick.

And that meant he was skipping school. And Jackson knew, from deep within himself.

Hiccup wasn't at school because of him.

* * *

' _No._ '

Jackson lifted a tall book from the cart beside him, pushing apart the row on the shelf with the corner and sliding the new book into place.

' _Weren't you afraid?_ '

' _No._ '

Jackson pushed from the end, tightening the grip of the bookend on the shelf. He tested the row, deciding it was too tight, and loosened the hold slightly.

' _Would you want to get to know me?_ '

Jackson scanned the cart, skimming over dozens of numbers, before grabbing the next book and dropping to his knees to add the book to the lowest shelf.

' _If I gave you my number, would you use it?_ '

Jackson braced his arms against the shelf and leaned in, resting his forehead on the cool metal of the bookcase. His eyes closed and he took forced breaths, attempting to calm himself. His grip on the metal slipped, his palms sweaty, and he wiped them against his jeans, before crossing his arms on the shelf and leaning.

He had messed up. Everything.

He didn't know Hiccup. Two weeks ago, the boy hadn't even existed. He was a complete stranger, and Jackson didn't think he could even pronounce his first name. He didn't know his friends, or his family, or, really, anything about him at all. Hiccup was a stranger.

But that was the thing; Hiccup didn't know any of those things about Jackson, either. And yet he had shown kindness to him from the start. He had chased after Jackson to make sure he was okay; he had tried to reach out to him all throughout the week; he had lied and taken a punishment that he didn't deserve, just to protect Jackson; he had protected him from Astrid, and he had been the only person from the crowd on Monday to try and stop Travis. Even before he had met Jackson. Before they had glown. And they had only touched because Hiccup and tried to see if Jackson was hurt.

And what had Jackson done? He had run away from him; stood by and let him take detention for him, without even thanking him; he had avoided the boy, and then yelled at him until he cried when the other boy tried even to speak with him. And when all that was done, he had walked away, shaking his head. ' _I will never want to know you._ '

Jackson squeezed his eyes tighter, willing the thoughts to go away without success. He pinched the brow of his nose before rearranging himself from sitting on his knees. From his seated position on the floor, he swung the book cart out, effectively barricading the path between the shelves and blocking him from view. There weren't many people here on Friday evenings, and what few were were a floor beneath him in the teen section for this week's event. Jackson hadn't seen a patron or another employee in this part of the nonfiction section in probably half an hour. He leaned his back against the shelves, before wrapping his arms around his legs and draping himself over them.

' _I'm not attractive, and I'm not a girl, or, or maybe I just_ scare _you_.'

Why. Jackson had spent all of last week afraid he would pity Hiccup. He hadn't even known the boy's name; all he had focused on was his handicap, the part of his body that he had seen self-consciousness in Hiccup's face. He had looked down on Hiccup without realising it, seeing him as less than himself, or in need of extra help. Hell, he had focused so much on the boy's disability that he hadn't bothered calling him by _any_ name until Hiccup tried to defend _him_.

At every turn, Hiccup had shown kindness to Jackson, even when he didn't deserve it. Especially when he didn't deserve it.

When Jackson would lay awake at night, thinking of meeting his soulmate, it would always be perfect. Set against the backdrop of a city, with the lights from the towering buildings dotting the sky like stars. Or Jackson would be leaning against the railings of a cruise ship, watching the setting sun, when the boy he had been staring at for days would join him. Or he would be wandering through a museum, and turn around, only to collide with his soulmate.

And in all of these dreams, his soulmate would protect him. Would care for him, and stand up for him, would make him smile and laugh and blush. He would be someone who was afraid of losing Jackson, someone who would be even a little possessive, because he thought Jackson was a treasure worth protecting.

He would show Jackson that he was somebody worthwhile.

But Hiccup had done those things, as much as he could. And Jackson had yelled at him and loathed him.

And Hiccup was at home, unable to come to school, because Jackson had told him that he wasn't even worth getting to know.

' _You just looked so scared._ '

Why had Jackson run? In all of his dreams, his soulmate was a stranger, so why was this a problem? Jackson always expected his soulmate to be someone mysterious and new who would fit perfectly into Jackson's life, filling the piece that he felt was missing. And Hiccup was... imperfect. He had flaws and qualities about him that Jackson had never dreamed of in his perfect soulmate. Piercings. Leather and black. A scar. A missing limb. Less-than-ideal friends. Disrespect for classes and defiance of teachers.

But he had a soul with so much depth and kindness, and large green eyes that shone with hope when they looked at Jackson.

And Jackson realised that he didn't actually know anything about Hiccup after all.

' _Weren't you?_ '

Perhaps Jackson didn't deserve a soulmate.

' _No._ '

* * *

The weekend proved to be almost too much for Jackson. His homework and job at the library provided only temporary alleviation from his thoughts, and he finished both too quickly for his liking. The rest of the time, he found himself in his own mind, unsure what to do, or even what to think. He would decide on one course of action only to second-guess it moments later and call into question everything that he had debated. He was vaguely aware of playing video games but he would find himself running into walls for minutes at length, too caught up in his own thoughts; and he watched television with Emma, but would ask a question about the plot only to find out that that had been from the previous episode.

The worst part, however, was that Jackson was forced into inaction. The minutes ticked by mercilessly slowly and there was nothing that he could do, even when he knew _what_ he wanted to do, because he was stuck at home.

Jackson wasn't able to fall asleep for many hours on Sunday night.

* * *

The busride Monday morning was one of the most anxious and prolonged moments of Jackson's life. He was, in general, a decent speaker and an excellent test-taker and so he didn't find himself panicking very often. But from the moment he woke up, every second that passed brought a little more worry to Jackson's gut, and his palms were clammy as he jittered his leg, bouncing his backpack. When the bus arrived, he practically lept off of the bus; he wasn't eager to rush getting to school, but he needed to be able to freely move, or else he was going to collapse into a hysteric fit.

Jackson worked his way through the hallway, cutting between students hurriedly as he navigated towards his locker. With each step he took, he came closer to the moment he was fearful of; but the anxiety of that inevitability only sped him up, as nerves took hold of him. Jackson overshot the combination of his locker twice.

With his locker visited, there was nothing holding him back from approaching Hiccup. The doubt began to take hold strongly, then; there were a hundred different ways this could end, and half of them involved physical pain. But all of them (except the one in which he couldn't find Hiccup) involved Jackson approaching the punk, and Jackson quivered at the idea as a new wave of anxiety coursed through his body. He loitered at his locker for a few minutes, rooted to the spot and unwilling to set his plans into motion; here, at least, he knew it was safe.

As more students began to crowd the locker bay, though, Jackson forced himself to move first his right leg, then his left; he could feel the world around him fade slightly, and he shook his head. He could do this.

Starting from the far end of the sophomore locker bay, Jackson walked the row of lockers, looking down each of them for any sign of Hiccup or one of his friends. He waited for a full minute at the row where Astrid had stood Thursday, figuring that it was likely to be where her locker was; but no one arrived, and Jackson moved on.

By the time that he reached the end of the sophomore lockers, Jackson still hadn't seen any sign of the boy. This brought with it a mixture of relief and anxiety: he hadn't found Hiccup, but he hadn't found Hiccup. He had realistically expected the task to be more difficult than this anyways.

Jackson began to think through his mind where he might be able to find the boy. His mind jumped to the cafeteria, where students filed in and out of the lunchroom with breakfasts and milks; but there was no sign of him there. Nor was he in the common area, along any of the major hallways, or by the library (he hadn't expected to find him there, but had checked just the same).

He was beginning to lose hope. This was his only chance to interact with Hiccup — if he was even here at all — given that all contact between the two was strictly forbidden in third period. If Jackson couldn't find Hiccup now, he would have to wait another day, and go through this whole process again.

Jackson couldn't do this all over again.

Panic began to take hold, and his mind rushed over all of the possibilities for where he could find the boy. He was sure at this point that he would be off in one of the small areas of the school — most groups had small niches they carved out of the social map of the building — but it would be almost impossible for Jackson to simply stumble across Hiccup's.

' _Think, dammit; where would he be? He's not at his locker, he's not in the cafeteria, he's not in the commons — where have you seen him, outside of gym? Well, at his locker, and with Travis, by the junior locker bay—_ '

Jackson was off in as fast of a walk as he could manage, careening through the hallways until he reached the junior lockers. He emerged towards the end of the locker bay, but doubled back to check the few rows behind him before progressing forward.

' _Come on... please be here... you've gotta be here, Hiccup. I— I can't do this again. Come on—_ '

Jackson stopped, heart skipping a beat before hammering angrily against his chest. Immediately, he retreated out of view behind the safety of the lockers.

He peaked around the corner again, doing his best to not look obvious. Astrid stood next to a large, wide-set boy with visible blonde stubble and short cut hair, riffling through the papers in his locker. Jackson strained to hear the conversation over the growing ambiance of student chatter.

"... And so I tried feeding her the biscuits, but she stared at them blankly, and then went back to licking the rock, and I thought 'Huh, I wonder what's so special about that rock?' So I picked it up, and—"

"Oh for the love of God, Fishlegs. Hurry it up, before the bell rings or I want to rip my ears off."

"Jeez, Astrid," the boy — Fishlegs, apparently — said, closing the locker and standing up. "Sometimes I think you don't even care about my stories."

Jackson ducked into the previous row of lockers as Astrid and Fishlegs emerged from the locker bay, heading off away from Jackson.

"What, me? Never."

Jackson took a deep breath, counting to three, before following the two at a safe distance.

* * *

This was it. Jackson stood nervously, thumbs tucked under the straps of his backpack, doing his best to maintain his composure. Just around this half-open door was where Fishlegs and Astrid had finished their walk. He had tracked them all the way down to this area of the school, which he wasn't familiar with; Jackson had never had classes in this wing. The walls of the hallway were bare except for one corkboard a good ways down.

From behind the door, Jackson could hear Fishlegs and Astrid talking, as well as a number of other voices that Jackson couldn't identify.

And Hiccup's.

Hearing the boy's voice had caused Jackson's pulse to speed up, and he felt like he could vomit at any minute out of nerves. This was really it.

He didn't know if he was ready.

Now that he was here, though, he had no idea what the plan was going to be. Just walking in was entirely out of the question. ' _Oh, hi Hiccup. I just stalked your friends so I could find you after, you know, making you cry on Thursday and then you skipping school Friday._ ' He didn't imagine that would go over too well, and in any case, Jackson figured that Astrid might rip his throat out before he had a chance to finish.

Jackson glanced at the clock on his phone. There were only two minutes left before the bell was supposed to ring. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it fast.

He looked up and down the hallway, hoping against hope that somebody would come this way and provide a distraction. Jackson entertained the idea of simply leaving a note for Hiccup to find, but decided against doing so.

' _Shit, Jackson, come on, think, think of something, don't b—_ '

The bell rang.

Jackson's pulse quickened as he heard movement from inside the doorway, and he backed away from it, hoping to hide behind another corner or in another classroom. He ducked into an open doorway just as Astrid emerged, followed by a girl who could have been her black-haired twin, and two gangly-looking blonde students who were most assuredly twins. After a moment, Fishlegs emerged, Hiccup right beside him.

His shoulders were slumped, and his head hung a bit; even from behind, Jackson could tell that the boy was hollow.

' _Oh shit oh shit, it's now or never, Jackson._ Go.'

He wasn't sure by what miracle he actually was able to start moving, and the world around him felt surreal, like a white tunnel that was turning almost imperceptibly slowly, but still just enough.

The carpet of the hallway muffled Jackson's footsteps as he approached Fishlegs and Hiccup, the others already far enough ahead to not notice him. The two boys moved slowly — Fishlegs with a leisurely cadence, Hiccup with one of resignation. Before Jackson really had time to think over his plan, he had neared the two.

Even with his footfalls silent, the two boys noticed Jackson's approach, and turned to face him; there weren't many people to walk this hallway in the morning. Fishlegs remained unemotional, a look of slight confusion crossing his face. But Hiccup's eyes opened and his mouth parted, and it looked as though he stopped breathing altogether.

Jackson froze. Staring into Hiccup's eyes, he wasn't sure what to say now. There wasn't anything that he _could_ say that would begin to cover the mix of emotions that he now felt: confusion, fear, terror, hope, uncertainty. Jackson stood there in silence, unable to open his mouth now that Hiccup was staring at him. After a second, Jackson's eyes fell to his feet.

A moment passed, and Hiccup let out a regretful, deep breath; Jackson could sense the boy turning away.

' _Weren't you afraid?_ '

' _No._ '

Jackson's left hand reached up to cover his own face even as his right hand landed on Hiccup's shoulder gently. The other boy stopped moving, and Jackson could feel the boy turn around under his hand.

Jackson's face was hot against his palm and his mouth was dry when he opened it. When Jackson spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically rough.

"Is," Jackson began, quiet even in the silent hallway. He swallowed. "Is it too late for me to have your number?"

After a heartbeat, Jackson felt movement through the palm that rested on Hiccup's shoulder. Looking up, he peeked through his fingers.

The whole world seemed to be empty, except for those green eyes that shone back at him, and the mouth that hung slightly open, the corners curved ever so slightly into the tiniest of smiles.


	11. Chapter 11

Jackson stared ahead, the blackboard on the otherwise pristinely white wall blurring over in his vision. White marks and smudges stayed out of focus as his mind raced through emptiness, letting the wave of uncertainty roll over him.

He had planned to ask Hiccup for his number. All weekend long, he had agonised over it, knowing that he needed to but still anxious about the moment. Almost 48 hours (minus sleeping) had been spent living over the thousands of possible futures and ways of asking Hiccup for his number after rebuffing him painfully not even a week earlier. And unlike with a lot of what Jackson was accustomed to, things had gone completely against the plan.

Well, Hiccup had given him his number. Very eagerly. Jackson might have been worried — okay, he was frankly terrified as _hell_ — about giving his personal phone number out to somebody who looked as disreputable as Hiccup did, who hung out with the very group of people that both his mother and after school specials warned against. And also, the fear of admitting to himself that he was asking the boy who his body recognised as its soulmate for his phone number. Jackson had needed to slow Hiccup down, raising his left hand in a calming motion as shaky fingers had fished the phone from his pocket. It took both hands for Jackson to unlock his phone and to open up his contacts, and the double set of eyes trained on his every movements only made things so much more difficult to work under. By the time Hiccup finished his phone number, Jackson realised he hadn't been breathing much, if at all.

No, it might not have gone according to the general, ill-defined plan, but he had at least known what to do. He'd had a lot of time to think about it.

Unlike what came immediately after, which was: what the hell comes now?

Jackson's face had burned brightly, and his eyes felt like they couldn't move; he had definitely felt hyper-aware of his senses and his environment, and it might have been the lack of oxygen but the world felt a little sideways. As he thought back on it, he'd done little better than run off after Hiccup had given him his number. He'd had the decency to excuse himself (what he thought had been) politely, but it was so abrupt— and he hadn't even _given_ Hiccup his number.

Oh god, Hiccup probably thought Jackson was still an asshole. Jackson didn't necessarily want to care too much about this, but he couldn't help at least slightly caring about the other boy's emotions.

Oh _god_ though: Hiccup didn't have Jackson's number. That meant it was up to Jackson to text him first. And Jackson barely texted. Not even just acquaintances much less outright strangers; Jackson could count on one hand the number of people he had received text messages from. Merida was the top, by far, and other than that there were the very sporadic text messages from his mother and Emma. Emma texted her friends often, almost incessantly, but Jackson didn't have any friends to speak of whom he texted. So on top of the almost insurmountable feat of needing to reach out to a boy who truthfully scared the devil out of Jackson, he had to do it in a medium that he wasn't accustomed to interacting with people over. As much as he loved Merida, one person did not make a pattern nor did it actually train him, other than how to talk to _her_.

The thoughts in Jackson's head swam around, indistinct and in no real order: each thought knew it was going to have its own time in the spotlight of Jackson's head and give him a chance to worry, and so the boy's brain was content in its chaos. It was like the thoughts were in another language altogether.

Oh crap.

Some of those _actually were_ in another language.

"Jackson? Können Sie der Unterschied zwischen dem Dativ und dem Genativ erklären?"

Crap.

"W-wie bitte?"

"Die Unterschied zwischen den Dativ und den Genativ. Wann muss man den Genativ in Sätzen nutzen? Was beschreibt der Genativ im Satz, das der Dativ nicht macht?"

Jackson stared wide-eyed at his German teacher, pretty sure that he himself resembled a deer in the headlights on a dark, dark road; he hoped to God that the car would stop before it hit him, because Jackson didn't feel powerful enough to leap out of the way. He looked down at his notebook open in front of him, but there were probably six lines of notes written there since the start of class 20 minutes ago, and they were only just words that the teacher had written on the board; now out of context, there was nothing helpful for Jackson to reference.

"Uh, um, ich weiß nicht? Es tut mir leid." he said, hunching his shoulders, hoping that the teacher would see the resignation and pass over him.

Mr. Durman's eyebrows twitched and his head cocked to the side (almost) imperceptibly, but then his gaze turned to the right of Jackson, a few rows over. "Clara?"

"Man nutzt den Genativ, um etwas das man hat zu beschrieben. Zum Beispiel, 'Das Schloss des Königs.'"

"Gut gemacht. Und dem Dativ? Was ist der Unterschied zwischen dem Dativ und dem Genativ?"

Clara replied to the second question as well, German coming forth with only a few stutters. Now that Jackson wasn't in the spotlight of the class' attention, he could understand the questions perfectly. He'd done the readings over this from last night. He had known what to say. Jackson's face burned brightly in shame. Nobody was staring at him anymore, but he was rehearsing lines in his mind to fend off people and to recover in the eyes of his teacher. He could tell there had been surprise in Mr. Durman's eyes. Jackson might only be in second year German, but Mr. Durman held high expectations for Jackson, and the boy had always come through.

Except Jackson hadn't even been paying attention to the teacher's lesson. He'd been off thinking about some boy who had given him his phone number.

Without even trying, Hiccup was becoming a massive problem for Jackson, and glow or no, if Jackson failed a class he would cut the boy out entirely.

* * *

After his mortifying experience in fifth period German, Jackson maintained his focus keenly through sixth and seventh period. He made a particular point about raising his hand and speaking out during seventh period English, as the class continued to discuss _The Scarlet Letter_ and its representations of early colonial America. It didn't count in the slightest as a do-over for German earlier, which against all effort would not leave him alone. But it felt good to have control over a situation again and to show _someone_ that he knew his stuff.

By the end of the day, Jackson's shoulders were slumped in exhaustion as his backpack (filled with no less than five textbooks) pressed down under its own gravity. When Jackson boarded the school bus, he threw the backpack down on the seat with a loud thud, and slid in, cheek leaning against the cool window. His eyes closed, and the overwhelming embrace of sleepiness washed over him. It took so much self-control to keep himself awake, promising himself a nap after he finished his homework for the night. Or maybe he'd go to bed early. It seemed easy to keep Hiccup out of his mind, so long as he didn't think of the phone that he had stuff in his pocket, resting gently against his leg.

After he had gotten the number, Jackson hadn't seen much of Hiccup. Which was probably for the best, all things considered; he had no idea how to act around the boy. Ms. Avery still made sure that they were separated at all times, and probably would for a number of weeks more. Jackson could feel eyes on the back of his head, which made his muscles pull tight and his head to jitter like broken clockwork. The few times he had made eye contact with Hiccup, he'd quickly averted his eyes elsewhere, not wanting to convey anything.

It would have been so much simpler if they shared no classes together.

In retrospect, looking over the day, Jackson figured that he'd been thoroughly awful at executing his original plan. He'd asked for Hiccup's phone number, but his interactions with him had remained about as gruff as they had previously been.

Except now, Jackson had a means to communicate with Hiccup. And he knew that he had to use it. Which brought a sizeable lump of fear to his throat.

In his exhausted state, homework and reading his textbooks took him longer than he had expected. It wasn't until 4:50 that Jackson stretched, a few bones in his back cracking as he leaned as far back as his desk chair would let him, closing his eyes and resting. All of his bookwork was done, and all he needed to do was the reading for German and English for the following day. The German he did at his desk, head propped up on his palm as he leafed through the pages on the four cases, how to conjugate for Genetive, and the few verbal exceptions for the case. On the whole, the language interested him greatly — he'd never had a chance to learn another language — and he enjoyed the classes greatly, but today more than any day before it in a long while, he just wanted to reach the end of the chapter summary. The last few paragraphs of the chapter glossed over his brain, and he hoped there wasn't anything important in them because rereading them wasn't proving to be any more useful.

Setting his textbooks aside, he grabbed his copy of _The Scarlet Letter_ , opening past the three-fourths mark (there'd be a test over the book within the next two weeks) and laid down on his bed. Which was his undoing. He managed to read almost two pages before he was asleep, laying on his side with his back to the window and the book propped open on top of the covers. By the time he awoke, it was almost 7:00 and the sun had set, his mother yelling that dinner was ready.

Dinner passed by in a groggy blur, and between the grunts and the squinting eyes, Johanna and Emma both gave Jackson a reprieve. When Jackson returned to his room, he'd woken up just enough to not fall back asleep, but he still curled up in bed, hoping (against hope) that maybe he could return to the peaceful slumber. He picked up the book, leafed back to the start of the chapter, and began reading as his brain really began to awake.

It wasn't until he was partway through the chapter that he remembered the events of the morning. The contentedness and security of his post-evening nap began to ebb away quickly as it was replaced with worry. Hester and Dimmesdale's escape from town began to mix with _vivid_ memories of entering Hiccup's number in his phone, heart beating quickly as he looked at the "Contact's name" field at the top with apprehension. Jackson had to reread the scene where Hester admits Chillingworth to be her husband three times, because the worry began to eat away at Jackson.

It was late; it was past 8:00. Hiccup would have expected Jackson to have texted him by now. He probably expected him to text him once school was done. Hell, maybe even before school was done. And yet here it was, far past sunset and only a few hours before Jackson himself would be going to bed, and Jackson hadn't even begun to think about what he would say to the boy.

Jackson thumbed through the rest of the chapter briefly, unhappy with the number of pages he still had to read until he was finished. He wasn't sure if he was unhappy because there were too many or too few; he decided to settle on "both."

Ten minutes found Jackson four pages further into the book, but he was slowing down exponentially the longer that guilt and worry began to gnaw away at his stomach. He tried to resist it — he had homework to do, and Hiccup had already done _enough_ damage to his schooling, even if he hadn't even had a tangible effect yet. But he couldn't push it far enough away, and he rubbed his palms against his eyes for pressure as the book lay open on top of his narrow chest.

At length, he put the book aside, picking up his phone. He supposed that was progress, of sorts. But he took his time: checking to see if anybody had called (nobody had); if he had any voicemails (he didn't); if he had any new emails (two prescription drug spam messages, nothing else). It was when he was going into phone settings _just to make sure_ that his phone's software was fully updated that he realised he was wasting time — not even just on texting Hiccup, but that he was wasting time before he finished his homework. _'Enough of this,'_ he resolved as he opened up his contacts list, tapping the messages button on Hiccup's profile (after being _very_ careful that he didn't hit the call button).

Jackson was an excellent writer, at least of essays and speeches. In seventh grade junior high, his history teacher — Mr. Elmsworth — pushed for Jackson to join the speech and debate team. He'd given it some thought, or at least more thought than he'd ever given joining a club or team before. Ultimately, he'd turned it down, wishing he'd had a better reason other than internally knowing that he didn't want to work alongside the other students.

And yet here Jackson lay, five minutes of staring at the empty messages screen, trying to figure out what to send the boy. He couldn't think of a thing to write to the other boy. Everything that popped into his head was either something he didn't want to say because it sounded too "flirtatious" or because it was too vague. Jackson frowned, phone high above his face, as he tapped out a message.

> _Hello Hiccup, this is Jackson Overland. From school._

Well, that was awful, for so many reasons. He'd just been calling him 'Hiccup' for so long; he still wasn't sure what the boy's real name was, other than 'something foreign-sounding'. 'Hiccup' was probably the name that only his friends were allowed to use; Jackson didn't want to presume upon that territory, but also didn't want to suggest that he _was_ a part of that territory. He erased the entire thing.

> _Hello._

Well, he supposed that was better. He couldn't think of anything to stick after the period, but at least it _felt_ better. Hiccup wouldn't have any idea who it was, but he was at least making improvement. Ultimately, though, he couldn't think of anything more and erased the entire thing.

This kept on, Jackson typing out a message, unable to hit the send button because the message didn't feel right, and therefore erasing it altogether. When he finally glanced at the clock, he was disgusted to see that it was already 9:20; he'd been typing messages to Hiccup for almost forty minutes. Annoyed with himself that he'd wasted this much time, he typed out the best combination of everything he'd typed and hit send before he had any chance to reread it.

[-------------]

2012-01-16 9:22 PM

(J) Hey, it's Jackson Overland.

Jackson reread the blue bubble that didn't even take up two lines of text on his phone. Forty minutes, and four words (five words). Within a minute of hitting the send button, Jackson could think of twenty better things to send him than what he had; what he'd sent was an awful choice, and he wanted to take it back and start all over, for at least a dozen different reasons. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, turning the screen of the phone off and setting it down on the bed beside him. He grabbed at the book where he had set it down, but he took a minute to breathe and relax himself, clearing his mind so that he could continue reading.

_"Never, never! whispered she. "What we did had a consecration of its own. We felt it so! We said—"_

The phone beside him buzzed.

It was face down, and Jackson was terrified to turn it over. Hiccup had responded. A lot sooner than Jackson had thought, or rather had hoped. He knew he had to turn it over, but he only did so after a minute or two and gently, as though he were wary that it were a royal decree for execution. In the time that he waited, he saw his phone vibrate again. He took a deep breath, and flipped on the screen.

The two messages were waiting there, on his lock screen. He swiped them right, having already read them at a glance but not wanting to address them unless it were formally.

(H) Jackson!!

(H) hows it going?

Jackson stared at the two messages. He'd expected more: lengthy messages locking him in place, or something deep and romantic and forthright. He looked at the messages, but a small bit of worry broke away and disappeared. He knew how to respond to this, at least.

(J) I'm doing alright. How are you?

He put the phone back down, choosing to stare up at his ceiling. He thought about picking up his book again, but judiciously decided to wait a minute before doing so. That turned out to be the smart course of action, as his phone vibrated again shortly thereafter.

(H) awesome! and awesome

This proved to be infinitely more difficult to respond to. Jackson reread the message, trying to think what to say; suddenly, having too _many_ options felt like a worse situation than not having enough.

(H) whats up?

Alright. That he could do. He could do answering questions.

(J) I'm finishing my homework for tomorrow. What about you?

Barely a minute elapsed before Hiccup's response came.

(H) im watching a movie. have you seen team america

(J) No, I haven't.

(H) its really good

(H) so what hmwk do you have?

(J) I just have to finish reading this chapter for English.

(H) who do you have for english?

(J) Mr. Weebly.

(H) oh, finn has him as well. hes the guy with me this morning. accel?

(J) Yeah.

Jackson stared at his phone. He hadn't been sure what to expect from texting the boy, but it hadn't been this. This seemed so... nonchalant. Like the conversation wasn't riddled with awkwardness. He turned off the screen of his phone, setting it aside for a moment to stare up at the ceiling.

Nothing today had gone like he had planned. Or expected. This was smalltalk. This wasn't Hiccup hitting on him, this wasn't Hiccup forcing himself onto Jackson or asking questions about the future, or whatever ill-defined worry Jackson had held about talking with him. This was just... normal.

And that confused the hell out of Jackson.

(J) I have to finish reading though.

He typed out the message quickly and hit send, putting the phone away under the pillow next to him, out of sight. A few moments later the pillow vibrated, but not having to see the phone made it easy for him to ignore it as he picked up the book again, returning to the page he had left off at. With the worry mostly abated, it was easier for Jackson to focus on what he was supposed to be doing.

_"Never, never!" whispered she. "What we did had a consecration of its own. We felt it so! We said so to each other! Hast thou forgotten it?"_

Still, some sort of ill-defined confusion sat with Jackson as he continued to read. Not enough to prevent him from the story. Just enough to bemuddle himself about Hiccup.

* * *

By the time everything was done, it was so much later than Jackson had finished homework by in years. When he glanced over to the bedside clock after putting his bookmark in at the start of chapter 20, the red numbers read 10:32. Jackson leaned his head back against the pillow, resting his eyes. He would have enough time to play video games, but to do probably nothing more than a single quest. Which was disappointing, because one quest hardly felt like he was playing at all. Just enough to whet his appetite before sending him away.

He hadn't forgotten about Hiccup or texting the boy — that would be a difficult feat to do, given how the day had gone. Not opening his eyes, he prostrated his arm and wormed his hand under the pillow, fingers grasping a moment to find his phone before pulling it out. He pressed the power button, and Hiccup's last unread message appeared on his lock screen.

(H) good luck!

[-------------]

2012-01-16 10:35 PM

(J) Oh, thanks.

It took a few minutes for Hiccup to respond, but even by then, Jackson still hadn't moved from his position on the bed. The boy figured that he wasn't going to play video games tonight, and so was trying half-heartedly to devise some form of entertainment for the hour he still had left before getting ready for bed.

(H) you finish reading?

(J) Yeah. For tonight.

(H) cool

(H) so what are you going to do now

Jackson held the phone over his head, reading the messages. The lids of his eyes narrowed minutely in thought, and that was when his thumb slid ever so slightly to the side.

Dropping the phone on his face.

"FFFFfffffffff— owwww," he cursed, wincing as he rubbed at his eyes, which had miraculously been saved but were still angry and sore at the boy. He decided to leave the offending device where it had fallen, throwing his legs over the bed and walking into the restroom where he washed his face, massaging his eyes and cheeks with the warm water. He dried his hands but just allowed himself to stand in front of the mirror, eyes closed for a moment in Zen calmness. He flicked at an itch by his eyelid.

Jackson closed the door, standing still for a few more moments before he pulled his shirt over his head, kneading slightly at the muscle on the back of his neck, right side. Unfastening his pants and pulling off his boxers, he turned the bath on, testing the waters before pulling the shower pin and stepping in. He let the warm water wash over his face, dripping down his neck and his bangs pouring rivulets of water on his feet. He stood in the shower, rotating himself sporadically, before finally lathering his hair with shampoo.

* * *

When Jackson finally climbed back into bed, he was in pyjamas and the clock read 11:23. He figured he might as well just go to bed now, since pretty much everything else was entirely out of the question now, with what little time he had left tonight to invest. Besides, he could play a little bit more Lost Magic on his DS in the relaxing embrace of his bed.

Pulling back the covers and setting the DS gently on the pillow, Jackson relocated his phone similarly as he inserted himself into the relaxing curves of his mattress and snuggling upon himself in the calmness of his bed. This was by far one of his favourite feelings, and he was more than a little tempted to simply go to sleep right then. He click the cord on his bedside lamp, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Jackson picked up the phone gently (having learned not to trust it), turning on the screen, now vibrant and bright against the ambient black of his room.

(H) so what are you going to do now

[-------------]

2012-01-16 11:29 PM

(J) Sorry. I think I'm just going to go to sleep. There wasn't much I could do with just an hour.

Like before, a few minutes passed before Hiccup answered again.

(H) just an hour? you go to sleep really early

(J) School starts at 7. Going to sleep at midnight isn't really that early.

(H) i guess youre right

With at least a slight bit of passive surprise, Jackson noticed that Hiccup had actually used the correct form of the contraction.

(J) What time do you go to sleep?

(H) 2\. sometimes 3

(J) That's awful. Why do you go to sleep so late?

(H) idk. it just suddenly is 1:45.

Jackson smirked just a little.

(H) byut i guess i should say goodnight

(J) Yeah, I'm going to sleep now.

(H) goodnight Jackson! :)

(H) its Harald, btw

(H) i never actually introduced myself before

Jackson closed his eyes, smiling in spite of himself. At least one tiny issue was now resolved.

(J) Good night, Harald.

(H) sleep tight

(H) and thank you

(H) oh shit. im sorry. ignore that

Jackson stared at his phone. Everything until now had felt like it had been mostly fake. Pretense. Like the two were dancing around something that neither of them wanted to say. Or at least, Jackson hadn't. There was awkwardness. Uncertainty. Confusion — a lot of confusion. And, to be honest, even if he'd done all of this, had actually asked for the boy's number, he still wasn't _entirely_ certain whether he'd made the right choice.

But this was actual emotion. There was a truth in what Hiccup — Harald — had just sent. Jackson figured that, of everything the boy had said today, this was the most sincere. That this was how he actually felt, what he _really_ wanted to say.

Jackson closed his eyes for a moment, tapping at his screen a few times before turning it off and laying it on his bedside. He picked up the DS, setting it on top of his phone; now that he was in bed, and after everything that had happened today, the exhaustion of it all had crept over him and he was ready to fall asleep. He wiggled his head, using it to adjust the pillow until it was surrounded by the cool, soft material. He took a deep breath, allowing himself to relax the last little bit. A smile — mostly the complete release of nerves, he decided — crossed his mouth.

There were still so many questions, so much doubt and uncertainty. But, somewhere deep, only barely perceptible, something in Jackson felt just a little bit warmer as he drifted off into unconsciousness with that very change in mind.

* * *

Somewhere fourteen miles away, Harald Haddock received a text message. He had his phone in hand, but he just held it tightly, not trusting himself to look at it. He definitely shouldn't have sent that to him. And he'd been terrified that Jackson might not text him back after that. But now he had something — he was pretty sure he knew who it was from — and suddenly he wasn't sure which of the two possible outcomes was more daunting. He turned the phone over in his rough hands, pressing the centre button and unlocking the phone.

A wide, toothy smile crept across his face, tentative and slow at first, and then uncontrollably until it crinkled at his eyes. Wordlessly his mouth repeated the boy's name as he stared at the screen, everything around him feeling warm, comforting. Solace and happiness.

(J) You're welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who waited patiently for something neither of us held much hope would happen; to everyone who encouraged me to come back; to everyone who has read this far, and to everyone who will continue reading. I will do my best.


	12. Chapter 12

[-------------]

2012-01-17 5:12 AM

(Hiccup) good morning :)

(Jackson) Hppf mornnigl

Jackson stared at the text message, eyes barely open as he groaned against the light. The screen was glaringly white and Jackson furrowed his eyebrows in protest as he turned it off, revelling in the return of the darkness. His bed felt perfect around his head, and the light, silky texture of his bedsheets against his bare legs soothed his body. His features relaxed as he sank back into the pillow, tilting his head back and feeling the cool pillow puff up underneath his neck. His alarm wasn't going off, and that was all he cared about as he let sleep creep into his features.

Bliss was almost upon Jackson when his phone vibrated again, the message alert sound piercing through Jackson's mind. The boy emitted angry noises as he groped for his phone, scrunching his eyes closed as he fumbled the volume down to mute and returned the phone to the nightstand, not caring when it only made it halfway onto the surface, hitting against the nightstand on its way down to the floor. Jackson vaguely wondered if his phone would be alright, but turned his head against the pillow and soon everything was gone from his mind.

An instant passed and suddenly he was awake, the alarm shrill and painful on his ears. His hands found their way to the clock in the darkness, tracing over the surface before finding the alarm button and switching it off. Jackson felt cheated out of sleep, having never had a chance to return to his dreams; it felt as though no time had passed between the text messages and now and he cursed Hiccup mentally, hating the boy for waking him up.

The alarm off and his bed still divine around him, it took every bit of his willpower to stay awake, enjoying the feel of his bed but not allowing himself to fall back asleep in it. When Jackson finally groaned and kicked his legs out into the frigid air, he wasn't so much angry with Hiccup as he was with the way the world worked. Scooping up his phone, he shuffled down the staircase, bare feet touching cool polished wood as he walked into the kitchen. The lights were entirely too bright, and the room smelled heavily of coffee. As he forced open his eyes, accepting the reality of his situation, he frowned against the light. His mother was leaning against the counter, coffee mug in both hands as something — bacon, from the less powerful smell of it — sizzled on the range next to her. Feet sticking to the floor as he shuffled to the cupboard, he pulled out a mug of his own, pouring himself some coffee and mixing in milk. He took a sip, a little disappointed that he tasted more milk than he did coffee.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Johanna said as Jackson leaned against the sink counter, looking at his mother to the side.

Jackson grunted. "Morning," he said, taking another swill of coffee before pulling his shoulders back, feeling as his back cracked and a feeling of pleasure ran through his senses.

"Looks like you could've done with more sleep, huh?" his mother said, smiling at him teasingly, and Jackson glared at her. _'That's not something you tell someone when they're visibly tired, mother.'_ She smiled just a little bit wider, knowing she'd succeeded, and Jackson walked around the counter and placed himself on one of the stools.

"When's breakfast?" he asked. Above them, Jackson could hear the tell-tale sounds of Emma waking up; every once in a long while she would trip on one of her snaking cords in the dash to her alarm clock, and it sounded like today was one of those mornings. Her swearing let him know that everything was fine — or at least, that she wasn't hurt. Well, at least, not badly.

" _Language_ , young lady!" Johanna shouted upstairs from where she stood in the kitchen, turning around to flip over the bacon. She pulled a second frying pan from below the countertop, letting the pan heat up over the flame while she coated it in cooking spray. "Should be just a minute or two, Jackson." She picked up the large metallic mixing bowl, pouring mixed egg yolk onto the frying pan.

The smells of the breakfast weren't doing anything to take away the awful fact that it was far earlier in the morning than Jackson wanted to be awake, but they were still enticing enough to give him a reason to be. That, and also that the schoolbus would be here in half an hour.

Jackson set the coffee down on the counter, turning his phone on. If he was awake, he might as well read the text message Hiccup had cruelly sent him.

(Hiccup) not a morning person, huh? ;)

Jackson face dropped in annoyance, and he shut the screen off. _'Guess today is "Gang up on Jackson" day'_ he thought, picking up his coffee and taking a drink.

* * *

"Jackson, that's a _really_ big turnabout. Like a week ago, you were— well..."

"I know," Jackson replied, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers, mostly just to give himself an excuse to pause for a moment. "I guess, just a lot of things happened, kind of all at once."

Merida sat back, picking her elbows off the desk in front of her, before deciding better of it and returning herself to hunched over the table. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt, and Jackson had caught the loose shorts before she had sat down; it was 10:00 in Scotland, and his friend had been relaxing after a day of school followed by a three hour lacrosse practise. She'd assured Jackson that she'd be okay with putting her homework aside for a while to talk with him, but he still felt a twinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach. _He_ would have called earlier, if he hadn't been doing _his_ homework. But Merida had a particular way about her — namely that she was very determined when she made a decision. And he was happy to see his best friend; Jackson had been too wrought with emotions over the weekend to want to talk to anybody, and so it had been roughly a week since they'd spoken. Jackson ultimately decided that he'd just trust that she was able to take care of herself, and if she felt confident she could put aside her schoolwork to talk with him, she'd know best.

"I've only heard what you've told me, but he didn't sound like the kind of person you wanted to... be around." Her brief pause made him think that there was something she caught herself from saying, and he was both curious and glad that she didn't share it with him.

"Yeah. And I'm still wondering if I made the right decision; I mean, I'm more than a little anxious that he has my phone number. It was kind of an emotional decision," he said, eyes darting to the side in a twinge of embarrassment.

"So what's he been like?"

"That's just it. He's kind of been— normal."

A continent away, his friend raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Normal?"

"I mean, I guess, yeah. He's," Jackson began, not entirely sure what he was going to say. Saying that he was surprised that Hiccup was a normal human being wasn't probably the smartest way to phrase what he meant. But at the same time, that _was_ a bit of the truth, really. "He's just, I mean he acts normal. I guess I expected him to be, uh, abrasive. Or way too forward, after the whole... Or maybe to be like a thug, or a stoner, or something," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Though I guess I don't actually know if he's a stoner or not," he added as an unbidden afterthought, and immediately regretted saying it.

"Oh Jackson," Merida said, Scottish accent drawing out the vowels. She rested her head in her palms, the screen going red with wild curls that fell in every directly. It was a strange thought, but Jackson missed feeling them. She would rest her head on his shoulders, or put her head on his lap and he'd stroke her hair idly as they talked; simple things that Jackson had taken for granted before she had moved away. The curls bobbed and Jackson could tell she was shaking her head.

Jackson's phone decided that this was the best time to ring, alerting him he had a new text message. Merida's head popped up suddenly, eyes wide in confusion. "What was that?" she asked.

"I just got a text message," Jackson said, swiping the screen right and tapping in his passcode.

[-------------]

2012-01-18 5:23 PM

(Hiccup) whats up? done with hmwk?

"I know what that was, Jackson. Is it him? What's he saying?" she asked, sitting up and trying to peer down from the top of the computer screen and see the device.

(Jackson) Yeah. I'm talking with my friend right now.

"Jackson, what's he saying?"

"He just asked what I was doing," he answered, setting his phone back down in the recess of his desk. "I just told him that I was skyping with you, don't worry."

"He knows about me?" Merida asked, a hint of worry in her voice that Jackson couldn't figure out.

"No, I just said that I was talking with a friend. I haven't really told him that much yet, Mer. I only got his number on Monday, and yesterday he just asked me about my day."

"Oh," she hummed in response as another message came in.

(Hiccup) oh sorry ill leave you alone then

Jackson typed at his phone, feeling weird and wishing he'd go faster under the stare of his best friend.

(Jackson) Thanks. I'll text you once I'm done.

The pale boy looked up into the webcam again. "It's really weird texting him — well, actually, it's weird texting anybody who isn't you. But it's weird texting him because I don't really know what to say. But it's also been two days, so _pretty_ much nothing has happened." He shrugged his shoulders again. "I've kind of shared everything I know with you already," he added sheepishly.

Merida actually sat back this time, folding her hands across her chest, her mouth pulling to the side. It looked like condescension on other people, but Jackson knew Merida well enough to know that it was just how she looked when she was trying to think over something important. After a moment of silence, she grinned, eyes rolling up to the ceiling.

"You have very weird lot at luck, Jackson Overland," she chuckled.

Jackson smiled back, shoulders moving in a silent laugh. "I guess I kind of do."

* * *

The conversation had ebbed into Merida's life, something that Jackson had been grateful for; it made him feel just a little less far away from the girl when he was able to talk with her about her friends by name. Ash ("never call her Ashley") had managed to get herself grounded over the weekend, something which wasn't entirely uncommon for the girl. She, Merida and Kara had tickets to go to a football game on Saturday, and Ash sneaking out had been a very last minute, unplanned, and startling development. She'd only managed to compound the situation when she picked a fight with another one of the fans and Merida and Kara had needed to pull her out before the game had ended. Jackson had met Ash before (he'd met all of Merida's friends over Skype), and she seemed incredibly nice, but even if Merida were only telling half-truths, the girl was still wild and almost crazy.

Jackson also tried to pry at a boy named Duncan. He was a year older and went to one of the all-boys schools in the area. Merida had first mentioned him a few months ago offhandedly, but lately his name had been coming up more and more in their conversations. Merida didn't hide from Jackson that she liked the boy, but she also clearly wasn't the type to pine over anybody. It shouldn't have, but it filled Jackson with a sense of guilty sadness. He was happy for her, that she found someone whom she liked. But it also felt foolishly sad that there was another boy in Merida's life; it wasn't the same position, obviously, and Jackson was still her best friend. He just liked being "the boy" in Merida's life, and he guessed he just didn't want that to change.

By the time that the two friends had finished talking it was nearing midnight for Merida, and Johanna was calling from the kitchen below that the food was on the table and if Jackson waited any longer, it'd be frigid. The call ended after two hours with the both of them smiling and exchanging _'love you'_ s.

Dinner was kind of cold.

* * *

(Hiccup) so what do you do after hmw,k

Jackson looked from his phone up to the paused screen on Skyrim, naturally dark menus only made darker by the fact that it was the middle of the night in Tamriel. There was no real 'good' way to answer this. He'd spent the past thirty minutes on a killing spree. He'd honestly meant to move the apple on the merchant's table for fun, but that apparently irked the guards. And then he'd accidentally pocketed the apple, starting a two guard chase that escalated when he defended himself. There were now six dead city guards, two vigilante travelling merchants, and a giant moose which had decided that today was as good a day as any to jump between the spinning arrows flying across the hillside.

(Jackson) I play video games.

He didn't want to admit it, but that was usually what he did for most evenings. Finish homework, chat with Merida; play video games, bed around 11. Jackson had a lot of fun doing it, but he now felt painfully aware of how boring that made him sound.

(Hiccup) o nice! what do you play

Jackson shrugged.

(Jackson) Right now I play a lot of Skyrim.

He put the phone down, picking up the controller from where it sat on the floor in front of him. Unpausing the game, he followed through the landing on the ground, before taking off in a run towards the large lake in front of him. An inn appeared in the distance, and he made his way towards it, his horse appearing in the stable as he neared. _'Guess I've gone just far enough for him to spawn again,'_ he thought, pressing the X button and climbing on the animal.

Texting someone regularly while playing a video game was a lot more difficult to do than Jackson had expected. He supposed it followed as part of having a conversation with somebody, but it was hard to make any progress when he would have only a minute's reprieve between text messages, if even that. He tried answering them immediately at first, but as minutes passed into almost an hour and he had made little progress in either conversation or the video game, he began to space out his responses. It was kind of a rude thing to do, and he felt guilty ignoring the messages, but he hoped that the context would at least give Hiccup enough that he wouldn't feel insulted. He made a point of responding to each message within five or six minutes of receiving it; he just couldn't continue pausing twice during every major fight to return text messages.

What evolved out of it though, as Jackson lay in bed reading over the messages as he waited for sleep to overcome him, was an actual conversation. And Jackson was surprised that he had offered up details about himself. The kinds of games he enjoyed playing. The movies he remembered enjoying, the shows he would watch with Emma. He'd even _mentioned_ Emma, explaining that he had a sister. Details which he wasn't sure he'd have given Hiccup had he been focused only on the conversation, or speaking to the boy. But reading over it, the conversation felt fluid, and he didn't actually feel a sense of guilt that he had shared too much; only the knowledge that he would have felt that way otherwise.

And he'd learned a lot more about Hiccup, as well. He'd learned that he liked video games, but didn't have much of an opportunity to play them because he didn't own any systems. He learned that Hiccup did his homework (something which Jackson had, rather shamefully, been surprised about) late at night. He learned Hiccup liked watching movies and television but often didn't do it very closely; he would leave something in the background while he worked.

That was the most surprising of all, though. Jackson had actually put down the controller, focusing only on the conversation for a while. Hiccup had said that going into the details of it would be a bit difficult to do over text messages, but that he built electronics. That was his hobby, what he would spend his free time doing; it was what would keep him up until he wasn't aware that it was already the next day. But the idea that the boy, dressed in black jackets and tight pants, with piercings in his eyebrows and on his lip, who hung around people who bullied students like that girl, also spent his free time building electronics and listening to comedy movies; it hadn't fit with the image of Hiccup that Jackson had held of him. It was just so jarring, putting the two images together, that as he lay there falling asleep, he began to wonder if one of those images might be wrong.

* * *

It was really difficult bringing a pillow to school. Jackson's backpack was full to the brim, crammed with school books and notebooks for about every subject. He tried to bring home only the essentials that he needed, and yet that seemed to be most everything in his locker, every day. But trying to fit his body, his backpack (that probably weighed a third of what he did), and a bulky, cold blue pillow into the space of one seat on a school bus was an incredibly difficult feat to manage. What proved more difficult, however, was trying to keep it in his locker at school. The bays were full of lockers that stood taller than Jackson, but each locker was only half of the height, so that someone had the upper locker and someone else the bottom. It was more than enough room for Jackson to store all of his books and all of his binders, his gym clothes and the occasional packed lunch. But it was a fight to close the door, even if the pillow was soft and pliant. Jackson touched the locker door when he shut it, and could feel the pillow was exerting enough force to push out on the door.

When he opened it to change books before fifth period, the pillow was just as big of a problem as it had been before. Jackson would need to ask Jamie how he managed it every week, because the boy didn't carry it around with him.

The first six classes of the day seemed to fly by in a swift motion, but English seemed to drag on for ages, the clock having barely moved every time he looked up to read it. He wasn't bored of the class; only just waiting for the school day to end so that he could go to movie club. He hadn't been aware until this morning when he first grabbed his pillow, but he was really eager to go again; he'd just been so focused on what was happening with Hiccup that he hadn't stopped to think about it until now.

Just like the week prior, Jackson was one of the first students to arrive in Ms. Ana's room. Leighann was busying herself pouring a gallon-sized bag of pretzels into a bowl, and Amanda was standing over her, not doing anything but arms swaying back and forth slightly as though she felt like she should be doing something. Ms. Ana was sitting at her computer, checking emails from what Jackson could see. With decidedly less hesitation than he had last week, he entered the room, dropping his bag on the ground along the wall and setting his pillow down on top of it. Amanda looked up at Jackson's presence, tilting her head back in friendly acknowledgement.

"Hey!" Leighann exclaimed with a wide smile as she turned around, loudly crumpling the plastic pretzel bag into a malformed ball. "Welcome back! Jack, isn't it?" she said as she crossed the front of the room to throw it in the bin. It unfolded mid-flight, fluttering off the rim and dropping to the ground, necessitating the girl to walk back and try again.

"Uh, yeah. It's Jackson," he replied, running a hand across the back of his head. She'd remembered his name, and he felt kind of mean correcting her over something so comparatively small. "But it's fine— I mean, you were close," he added, feeling colour rise in his cheeks.

He felt a presence behind him and suddenly a large hand on his shoulder. "Hey," the tall boy from last week said, moving Jackson slightly as he worked his way through the desks. Jackson remembered he was the vice president, and completely blanked on his name. _'I really need to do a better job at remembering people's names.'_

"No, it's fine," Leighann assured him with a wave of her hand. "Jackson," she repeated, though it looked to be more for her sake than his. Ms. Ana had turned her head from her computer, and Jackson caught her eye. The teacher smiled fondly for a moment before blinking and returning her focus to the emails.

The vice president set his bag down, rubbing his hands together as he rolled his shoulders back, rotating the ball of his right shoulder before grabbing a desk and lifting it slightly, moving it out of the way. Jackson immediately mirrored him, starting from the back of the room while the others took the front. Two more boys entered the room just as they were finishing, debating something about art; it was hard to get a handle on their conversation, as it seemed they'd mostly gone over all their arguments before reaching the classroom.

With the officers departing for the history faculty room and the two boys still engrossed in their conversation, Jackson stood idly for a moment feeling gawky, before making his way to his backpack. He supposed that with school being over, he'd be allowed to have his phone out without getting in trouble; but there was the overwhelming sense of _'classroom'_ all about him, and he ducked his shoulders to shield his phone all the same.

[-------------]

2012-01-19 1:38 PM

(Hiccup) i didnt think today was every going to end lol

2012-01-17 1:44 PM

(Jackson) Yeah. It felt the same here.

(Hiccup) i cant wait to go home and take a nap. i didnt think id make it through the rest of the eday

(Jackson) I don't understand how you can go to bed so late and wake up so early.

The officers returned, large bowl of poofy cheetos and a giant beanbag in tow. With them came three more students.

(Hiccup) lol i lose track of time

(Hiccup) i wish i could get my hmwk done earlier. youll probably be done with it before i wake up

Jackson looked at the text message, heart beating slightly faster. His first instinct was to evade, to not say anything. But that felt so... disingenuous. For what it was worth, Hiccup was trying as best he could to be friendly towards him, and he was being sincere and honest. Jackson supposed that he deserved at least a little courtesy and help.

(Jackson) Actually, I probably won't be.

That didn't mean that his fingers didn't feel stiff and resistant.

(Jackson) I have a club meeting today.

(Hiccup) o cool! what club is it

It had been so much easier to share with the boy last night, but Jackson had come this far already. If he was going to open a dialogue, he needed to finish it as well.

(Jackson) The school's movie club.

(Hiccup) we have a movie club??>

It might have been a bit of nerves, but Jackson laughed a little under his breath.

(Jackson) Yeah. It's part of the history department.

(Hiccup) omg i didnt know there was a movie club

(Hiccup) what movies do you want??

Actually, that was a really good question.

(Jackson) I don't know what movie we're watching today. Last week we watched Terminator.

Jackson sent the text message, pausing for a moment before sudden anxiety gripped his chest. He shouldn't have said that. Last Thursday was when Hiccup had just asked to talk with Jackson, and he had turned him away. Bringing that up was a terrible mistake. Jackson wanted to take back the text message as he stared at his phone with a slightly clenched jaw.

(Hiccup) ughhhh i cant believe ive been here for two years and this is the first im hearing about it

Jackson didn't think that Hiccup had taken any longer to respond than he had before. Maybe Hiccup hadn't noticed. Jackson would just keep talking until that text was offscreen, just to be safe. He almost typed out _'I didn't know about it until last week as well'_ before realising he was about to make the exact mistake that he was already trying to fix.

(Jackson) I think it's not that big of a club. There are only like 15 of us.

(Hiccup) and the school just lets you guys watch whatever you want?

(Jackson) Well, I think they have to get it approved first. At least with the teacher. And then there's a discussion afterwards about it.

(Hiccup) whos the teacher

(Jackson) Ms. Ana. She teaches AP European History.

(Hiccup) oh hey i have her

(Jackson) You're in AP Euro?

 _'Oh, that sounded_ really _rude.'_ It had been a surprise reaction, and he hadn't stopped to think about it until he'd sent it. Maybe it would sound less insulting over text, without the started look on his face.

Jackson sensed there was somebody standing close behind him and he turned around, brought back to the classroom he was standing in. Jamie was shrugging off his backpack, dropping it with a loud _thud_ to the floor next to Jackson's bag. "Hey," the boy greeted Jackson, who responded in kind.

While he had been texting, the room had filled up a lot more; engrossed with the conversation he'd been writing out, he hadn't been paying attention as students had arrived or lain themselves out across the ground. Jackson was one of the few people still standing, and he felt a little self-conscious now. At the front, the projector was already on, the screen a blinding shade of blue as the vice president (who Jackson _really_ needed to remember the name of) pressed buttons on the remote with increasing intensity. Leighann was setting the DVD case down on the table, her finger piercing the centre of the disc as she waited at the DVD player behind Ms. Ana's desk. The teacher was rolled out of the way, bundled almost comically with her legs up on the chair in front of her.

(Hiccup) nah. i have her for adv world history

Even with his mind telling him to end the conversation so that he didn't make the club wait for him, Jackson was still surprised. Truth told, he didn't think the boy would have been in... _no_ , that was really insulting to think about someone. And really pretentious of him.

 _'But you_ did _think it, didn't you?'_ the voice in his mind nagged.

(Jackson) Hey, the movie is about to start, so I've got to go now. But I can text you later when I'm all done.

Jackson pocketed the phone, dragging his backpack next to where Jamie had moved his, laying his pillow against the side of the backpack as he reclined on the floor. Jackson dropped down next to his friend, shuffling himself as comfortable as he could get on the cold tile. He rolled over and, with a bit of manoeuvring, folded his coat as best he could, using it as padding. It wasn't a replacement for a blanket or cushion, but it was infinitely better than the unforgiving school floor.

Having successfully inserted the DVD with effort and connected the project with more still, Leighann clapped her hands together, smiling with enough eagerness to light up the very air around her. "Alright, thanks everyone who came out for today's meeting," she started, leading in to the meeting announcements. She reminded the members about the bake sale; the club shirts arriving shortly; to sign up on the Facebook page and respond to the poll for upcoming movies. But somewhere between her words, Jackson felt his pocket vibrate, and when she finished talking, he pulled it out as the lights were dimmed, Leighann struggling in the semi-darkness to find the play button on the remote.

(Hiccup) enjoy! :)

* * *

How on Earth they were able to get away with their movie selections was completely beyond him. Jackson was pretty sure that if the board knew that they were watching Iron Man in a school sponsored club, he had a feeling the principal would be visiting a few of the club meetings. As it was, Jackson figured that Ms. Ana was probably doing a bit of secret keeping, though he wasn't sure if it was in the virtue of education, or just because she seemed fully engrossed in these movies. Still, a forty minute discussion on the spread of American imperialism in the Middle East as well as the sharp rise in militarism and weapons production — it had started a pretty intense conversation between the students, and it was a bit shocking to see that people disagreed over it. _'The movie showed it perfectly; this should have been a non-issue.'_

But it felt nice. It had been — well, it had been literal years since Jackson had been around someone he considered a friend, since he'd been around people who viewed him as someone they wanted to talk to. And Jackson realised: he had really missed this. The world was so lonely without Merida. It had been so long since someone had leaned over and whispered to him, a private something meant _for_ him; since someone had stood and waited for him while he struggled to put his coat on and stand up at the same time; hell, since someone had put their hand on his shoulder. Before this semester had begun, Jackson wasn't sure when he had last had any physical contact with someone that wasn't beating him up. Jackson hadn't noticed how alone he had _truly_ felt until he wasn't, and the weight of his isolation was crashing down on him like a flood. He thought he could actually feel it rushing through him, if he stopped to look inside. He felt a painful longing, as though it were radiating from him in waves. And Jackson didn't want to be isolated anymore. It was so painful, he thought he was going to cry; sitting in the chairs of the empty school lobby, he could feel his lip tremble slightly behind the hands that shielded his face for the moment. When he pulled them away, his eyes were blurred, mostly from the pressure of his fingers.

Every morning now, Jamie talked with Jackson as they left chemistry. The seating chart had them on nearly opposite ends of the classroom, but every day without fail, Jamie would spend what few minutes they had before leaving for their classes with Jackson. And somewhere in the last few weeks, Jackson realised: chemistry had become his favourite class of the day.

And Hiccup, who was talking every day to him, even if Jackson was non-responsive, secretive and standoffish.

And Hiccup, who wasn't the terror Jackson had thought he was; who wasn't the dropout Jackson had expected; who wasn't the thug that Jackson had mistaken him for.

And Hiccup, who was a far better person than Jackson was.

Good people were trying to enter Jackson's life, and he was the only one standing in the way, the only one not on his side, the only one keeping him from happiness.

All he had to do was reach out and touch it.

[-------------]

2012-01-19 4:56 PM

(Jackson) You're never going to guess what movie we just watched.


	13. Chapter 13

Jackson glared at the alarmclock with hatred through eyes that felt crusty and rough. It had decided to be extra loud this morning, and if Jackson were the type to swear, these moments in the morning were the most opportune moments for that. It didn't even matter how late he stayed up; every morning, it was this same fight, over and over and over again. School started far too early. It made no sense to Jackson how the younger you were, the later school began.

But Jackson had stayed up later than he normally did anyway. He'd been texting Hiccup for much of the previous night. Talking to the boy became his focus for the evening. At one point when Merida logged in to Skype, he had been holding two conversations at once — neither very effectively — and Jackson wasn't sure how Emma was able to do it. He'd watched her text three different people at once, all while sitting lazily on the sofa and watching reruns of iCarly. Merida had asked who Jackson was texting, but he was sure that she already knew. And she didn't comment on it when he told her, and he was grateful for it. For her. She knew Jackson well enough to know that saying anything about it, bringing it to his attention, would have done nothing but make the situation worse. And Jackson loved her for that.

Playing Skyrim hadn't been a possibility; he felt the tug to play the game, but he wouldn't have been able to play it with any focus, or to talk to Hiccup with any real determination. Jackson had decided on Minecraft in lieu of his Playstation. He hadn't played for a number of months, and figuring out how to use the keyboard again was a challenge at first.

Jackson had tried not to think about crying after school. It wasn't that he wanted to deny it, or to forget it had ever happened; he just didn't feel like focusing on it, didn't want to. His realisation had made an impact on his life — he was texting Hiccup now — and it didn't matter for what reason any more. He still knew why, but by the time he had finished his homework, it felt distant. The moment was already part of the past.

Jackson dragged himself out of bed, and roughly half an hour later was still dragging himself out the front door. It was only the sound of the school bus just barely down the street that woke him enough to send him in a mad dash to the bus stop.

If he fell asleep on the bus, he didn't realise it.

* * *

Chemistry was over, and Jackson could feel a slight throbbing behind his left temple. Everything had made sense, and he'd been able to take down all the notes that he had needed; but it had still managed to give him a slight headache, and as he put his things in his backpack, he was thankful that the period had ended when it had. His whole body protested when he tried to stand up with his backpack, and a portion of his body lost balance for a split second. The sensation of brief vertigo did little to aid his headache.

Turning around, Jackson dipped his fingers under the straps of his backpack as he waited for Jamie to finish packing. As the boy approached, Jackson turned and the two matched stride, leaving the classroom.

"We've been going over it for the whole year, and I still hate stoichiometry. No matter how much I check over my work, I always — _always_ — manage to forget a '2' somewhere," Jamie said as the turned the corner out of the science wing. Jackson laughed lightly, but said nothing in return. Forgetting a '2' in the equation made a _really_ big difference, and he wasn't entirely sure how Jamie was able to solve the problem if he didn't have the right configuration of molecules from the start.

"So what are you doing tonight?" Jamie asked.

"I've got work tonight from five to nine, and then I'll probably just play games for the rest of it. Nothing too adventurous, since I've got work early in the morning as well."

"Work?" Jamie asked, light yet inquisitive.

"Oh, I just work at the library. Nothing too intense; just shelving books and shelf reading."

"Shelf reading?"

"Yeah. It's when you look through all of the books on the shelves and make sure they're in order."

"That sounds absolutely _awful_ ," Jamie replied, a slight hint of disgust in his voice. Jackson snorted.

"It's not that bad, actually. Mind-numbing, but it isn't very difficult." The other boy hummed in response, and the conversation lapsed into a brief moment of silence. "Why do you ask?" Jackson offered. The two had reached the point where they parted ways, but they moved over to the side of the wall.

"Oh, I wanted to see if you wanted to come over and do something," Jamie offered lightly.

Jackson tried not to let his emotions flare up, though they threatened to. This was the first time that someone besides Merida had invited Jackson to their house for something other than a group project since he had been 13 and Sarah Hellenger had invited the entire class to her birthday party. A mixture of pride, happiness, surprise and a whole host of other emotions raced through Jackson's chest, and he tried to reign in his smile just a bit.

"I can't tonight, but I'm free the rest of the weekend from tomorrow afternoon," he replied, heart throbbing just a bit. Jamie had only asked him about tonight; he hoped he wasn't overstepping his bounds. A brief moment of worry touched the edges of his thoughts that he might be pushing his luck, but his friend didn't take long to respond.

"Yeah, sure, that works for me. Wanna come over tomorrow at two?" Jackson just smiled and nodded his head, trying to play his actions off as calm and collected. Jamie dug around his backpack for a moment, pulling out a pen. After half a minute of searching, the boy let out an annoyed grunt and ripped a page from his planner before zipping the bag up again. Turning to face the wall, Jackson watched as he wrote his address in bumpy letters, tracing along the thickly-painted recesses in the brick wall. The warning bell went off as Jamie handed the paper to Jackson, already backing up towards his classroom. "Just give me a call before you head on over, alright?"

Jackson nodded with more emphasis than he had intended to. "Will do!" he called after him, turning himself as he made a mad dash for the staircase. He was significantly further from the gym than Jamie was from his classroom. But Jackson didn't care much when the bell rang as he was just rounding the hallway towards the gym.

Throughout all of gym class, Jackson had a grin plastered to his face — even while he was breathing heavily and lagging behind during the five minute run along the walls of the gym. As he caught Hiccup's eye throughout class, the boy would be smiling back, and Jackson felt a twinge of guilt that Hiccup might be thinking the smile was all because of him.

But when Jackson dug his phone out at the end of the day, a text from Hiccup that read "You looked really happy during gym today :)" was all that waited for him. And Jackson nodded his head in agreement as he responded to the boy.

Hiccup was right. Jackson really _felt_ happy.

* * *

Jackson was just a little tired. Shelf reading might not be horrible — it wasn't Jackson's _favourite_ thing to do, but he didn't hate it. But regardless of whether he liked it or not, there was the simple fact that it would make him drowsy. It was mind-numbing, and with that came the inevitable sleepiness that one got when their mind shut down. It was 1:00 and Johanna was almost there, running a bit late after picking Emma up from her tennis lessons. Jackson had only been awake for five and a half hours now, but he hid a yawn behind his fingers. Michelle, one of the younger librarians who Jackson enjoyed casually talking with as he shelved books on his cart, looked over and smiled sympathetically. He waved at her and smiled; he might be tired, but he was done for the day and was leaving. He'd wake up when he hit the cool air.

And besides, he was headed to Jamie's house, and Jackson couldn't remember the last time he had felt this eager for anything.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cool window panes behind him. He was sitting in the large entranceway to Burgess Public Library, Main branch, and most of the front wall was made of whole sheets of glass. They did little to keep the cold out in the winter or the heat out in the summer, but they lit the vast open room before him. There were dozens and dozens of tables littering the first floor, and the in-house Starbucks café was off to the right. The first floor had no book stacks, but was instead used as a meeting grounds; as a reading spot; as a study area; or as a place to hold large, public events. It was decorated as though it were a park. Trees grew in terraces that were made to look like strips of land, and bamboo shoots separated the view here and there. The foliage snaked throughout the room in no real pattern; it was meant to look as though this were a section of nature that had always existed, and that the library had just been built up around it. It was a deeply vertical room as well, with the main centre of the courtyard cut out from the second and third floors. Windows all across the top of the ceiling let light filter down into the space, though the pyramidal shapes had snow accumulated in the crevices between themselves. Jackson would sometimes look down while he was working on the second or third floor into the courtyard and would wonder if it were shaped like anything. The plants that grew there were fake — he assumed, at least; he'd never seen them be watered in all the time he'd been here. But they were kept at enough of a distance that he couldn't be certain they weren't real. Jackson could think of few places more beautiful than this. He loved working here, and it was his solace in his mind.

It was only two minutes later that his phone vibrated; his mother was waiting outside, he checked. Before, Jackson would always just stand up and walk out. But now that he was talking with Hiccup — and often — he couldn't be certain what a vibration meant any more. He picked up his new books, tucking them under his arm. It was almost impossible for Jackson to come to work and not leave without new books; he couldn't always read them (usually, he couldn't read any of them, for lack of time). But shelving books let him see _every_ book in the library, and so many of them caught Jackson's attention. An Italian cooking book with a recipe to make calzones was stacked under a book on using sewing in origami which in turn was under a compiled collection of Calvin and Hobbes comics. If Jackson were being truthful with himself, he would probably only make it through that last one, but that didn't mean he didn't _want_ to read the others. He buttoned up his jacket, waving to Michelle and Grace as he hit the cold, January air.

Jackson felt like a little puppy, leg bouncing happily as he looked out the front window. He'd texted Jamie after he'd gotten to the car, letting him know that he was on his way; Jamie had responded quickly and happily, and Jackson was leaning close to the window. He felt full of energy, and were the window down, he'd probably stick his hand out, playing with the wind like a child as his mom drove. The way to Jamie's house took Jackson down roads he hadn't known existed even though he'd spent his whole life here. He had no idea what Jamie's house looked like, so every time that his mother turned into a new neighbourhood, his heart would beat happily and his leg would bounce faster. Jackson could feel the large smile he had on his face, and tried to make sure that he could control it before he met Jamie; he didn't want to look _too_ eager, but he sure felt it.

At last, his mother pulled into a driveway. The house was two stories, the outside made of red-painted wood, the doors and windows outlined in white. A simple concrete porch rose up to meet the front door with a path snaking to the right towards the driveway. It looked like the the path had been shovelled by someone a lot less experienced than whoever had shovelled the driveway. A garage ended the driveway, with an old, somewhat rusted basketball hoop tucked between it and the rest of the house. A tall wooden fence separated the backyard from Jackson's view as he got out into the cold, thanking his mom and closing the door quickly, breath immediately fogging up the window as he leaned down to hear what his mother was saying. "Don't forget to call me when you're ready to leave," she repeated after Jackson opened the door to hear her. Jackson nodded and closed the door again, taking a step away before noticing Emma making a face at him. He quickly pulled his nose back with his thumb and blared his teeth, earning himself another face while his mother smiled in the front seat. Jackson waved to the both of them before bounding up the pathway to the front door.

Jackson knocked on the front door, a bit more lightly than he had intended to, overcompensating for his eagerness. Immediately he could hear claws scraping at wooden floors, barking from inside as the dog slid across the floor in its dash towards the sound. Jackson could hear Jamie's voice from inside: "Calm _down_ , Abby. Jeez!" And then the door was unlocking, opening up to the smell of cinnamon and apples and something Jackson couldn't put a name to but which _smelled_ the way that wood _looked_. Jamie was smiling a toothy grin as he bent over, hand gripping tightly on the dog's collar. For all the sound she had made, the dog was all lanky bones, a tall and skinny white dog with brown patches along the narrow muzzle. She looked up and met Jackson's eyes, and he could hear her as her back legs attempted to move forward; her tail whipped at Jamie's ankles, but the boy didn't even seem to register it.

"Hey Jackson! Come on in," he said, opening the door wider as he dragged the dog bodily away from the door. Jackson turned to his mother, who had no doubt been waiting to make sure he could get inside, and she waved back, the sounds of the car starting again following him as he entered the house. The door closed behind Jackson as he stepped to the side, and with it closed Jamie let go of the dog's collar, who immediately bounded up to Jackson, circling quickly around his legs before dashing between them, tail still whipping madly about. Jackson wasn't sure how Jamie ignored it — the dog's tail was a lot more powerful than he had expected it to be.

"You can kick your shoes off there; we'll go head upstairs."

Jamie began climbing the staircase to the right of the front door while Jackson struggled out of his shoes; it was infinitely more difficult for him to take them off with Abby nosing her way forcefully into every space his body occupied. It took considerable strength to remain standing when she nosed the back of his kneecap forcibly as he was balancing on one foot. Down to his socks, he took a high step over the dog.

"C'mere girl," Jamie called from the landing on the staircase, clapping his hands against the sides of his legs. Instantly Jackson was forgotten as the dog took the stairs two at a time, the sound of metal on her collar jangling erratically. Jamie scooped the dog up fluidly, turning slightly as he held her like a baby. Jackson followed the two up the staircase, making faces at Abby every time her head whipped wildly around to see him.

Jamie's room was slightly smaller than Jackson's, but it felt more comforting. The wooden floor had scratchmarks along it at odd intervals, only some of which Jackson could be certain were attributed to Abby. Jamie's bed sat in the centre of the room, oak wood buttressing deep navy blue, Jamie's blue and white striped pillow lying at the head. His desk was along the far wall, an open textbook and calculator open on top of it. The chair had one of Jamie's plaid overshirts draped across the back, which moved as the boy pulled the chair around and sat down in it.

"You can sit on the bed if you want," he offered, and Jackson set himself down. Immediately Abby was on him again, jumping around him as licking at his ear. "Sorry about that, she's like that with most people." Jackson just laughed as he hugged her neck loosely, reducing the dog's movements down to just her tail and her head, both of which also calmed dramatically though never stopped moving. "How was work?" Jamie asked after Abby sat down halfway on Jackson's lap, still embraced with the hug.

"Wasn't bad. Almost fell asleep once or twice, but it wasn't bad," Jackson answered, lifting his head to look at his friend.

"You hungry? We've got some food downstairs if you are." Jackson shook his head in response.

"I ate lunch already."

Jamie leaned back, hands behind his head. "Well then, anything you want to do in particular?" he asked nonchalantly, before suddenly jolting back to attention, startling the dog in Jackson's lap.

"Oh god wait, no — you've never played Modern Warfare 3, have you?" he asked energetically. Jackson shook his head. Jamie had asked him when Jackson first mentioned he played video games, and the boy had looked momentarily crestfallen when Jackson said he hadn't played it before. "Well then, let's go downstairs so I can smoke your ass," he said, getting up and moving to the door, Abby wiggling herself free and scrambling after him.

* * *

Jackson wasn't very accustomed to the warfare-type games. He owned shooters, even routinely played them. But they were always a bit more controlled than the, well — than the full out _war_ that Jackson felt himself being thrown into. It wasn't that were was more that Jackson had to watch out for; rather, it was the rapid pace of everything happening in the game combined with his unfamiliarity with the controls. Even though Jackson owned an Xbox himself, it had been a while since he'd played it, and the control settings for the game definitely seemed a bit _off_ , which caused him to shoot at least two NPCs when he only meant to be zooming in.

Still, for all his disadvantage, he caught up pretty quickly. Jackson spent so much of his time playing video games that learning a new one was hardly a challenge. _Mastering_ , perhaps — but certainly not learning. Jackson was thankful friendly fire was disabled at the start, since most of his first two clips accidentally went into Jamie's back; but by the fifth or sixth combatant, Jackson had improved enough to be able to take them on. And by thirty minutes into the game, Jackson and Jamie were clawing at each other amidst "You stole that kill from me" and "Then you should have taken it." It was a half-and-half for how long the game was actually being played.

Almost an hour had passed before a girl's voice cut through the room. "You're so loud down here!"

"Don't worry about it, Soph," Jamie said, not taking his eyes away from the screen. Jackson however turned towards the source, which earned him a death he could hear from the television.

A young girl — probably first or second grade — was standing there, long blonde hair hanging straight. Her arms were crossed over a white shirt with a shiny rainbow on it, but she was wearing pyjama bottoms and was barefoot.

"Jamie, I'm being serious!" the girl whined back.

"I'll turn it down after this match," Jamie replied, still not looking away from the game, and Jackson wondered how many times this conversation played out on a weekly basis.

"I'll tell mom," threatened his sister menacingly, and that seemed to be all it took for Jamie to pause the game and drop his controller in his lap, arms coming up in a show of annoyance. He arched his back against the couch, head leaning over the back and staring at the ceiling. "Jackson, this is my little demon, Sophie," he said with a sigh.

"Hi Sophie," Jackson said meekly, raising his hand in greeting. Sophie ignored him as she stared at her brother.

"I want to bake cookies, and mom said you have to watch me when I use the oven."

"Sophie, we're playing a _game_. You can make cookies later."

"You've been playing your dumb game all afternoon. I want to bake cookies _now_ ," she replied adamantly. Jamie's head rolled to face Jackson and his eyebrows raised questioningly.

"I'm okay with taking a break," Jackson replied somewhat cautiously, feeling he was caught in an argument that he didn't want to be a part of. Jamie groaned, though it didn't sound like it was directed at Jackson, and he stood up, setting the controller on the sofa. Jackson stood and followed as his friend left the room, taking a left into a short hallway before entering the kitchen.

Jamie seating himself at the kitchen table to the far back, reclining in the chair, and offered Jackson a seat across from him. Behind him, Jackson could hear the sounds of cupboards opening and plastic rattling, the fridge opening twice. At one point, he heard the sound of something _somewhat_ -solid hitting the counter, followed by a gentle poof of air and Jamie saying "Oh god, Sophie." Jackson decided against turning around to inspect the mess.

The two of them sat at the table, finally able to enjoy their first lengthy conversation as friends. Everything before had been in the time between classes, or hushed while a movie was playing over their heads. This was the first time that Jamie actually got the chance to be able to share his interests. Set to the background noise of cookie sheets clattering and parchment paper being ripped, the two boys talked, beginning to really understand one another.

Jackson had only been asked once by Merida to describe what it was like working at a library; for his part, Jamie seemed genuinely interested, and actually concluded that it sounded like a cool job to have. He hadn't had one since he ended his paper route back in the sixth grade, instead spending his free time doing various things. Some of it was like what Jackson did: playing video games, probably for a bit longer than was necessary; wade through the vast amounts of daily homework. But he also would get together with the other kids from the neighbourhood and play football or basketball. Every family in the area had moved in with the same intention: raising their kid amongst other kids. Jamie was surrounded by childhood friends, and the bonds had apparently stayed pretty strong. Some didn't go to Burgess Public — and some of them did but were in vastly different classes. Jamie craned his head around Jackson's shoulder every time Sophie opened the oven, but other than that their conversation went uninterrupted.

They were just in the middle of recounting their awful stories of Mrs. Bergen, who they had both had for seventh grade English, when the oven door opened and the smell of fresh sugar cookies hit the air en force. Jackson's nose perked up and his nostrils flared slightly, turning towards the smell.

"No eating them until they're cool," Sophie scolded as she moved them to the cooling rack. A second batch of cookies went into the oven shortly thereafter.

The sun was just barely above the horizon when Jackson finally called his mother. Mrs. Bennett had come home offering to feed Jackson dinner with the family, but he declined. As much as he had loved — really _loved_ — being able to spend the day with Jamie, he knew that it was time for him to leave.

"So I'll see you Monday in class, yeah?" Jackson asked, tying his shoes. Abby was considerably calmer now as she sniffed at Jackson's fingers. Deciding she was a bit too docile, he made a few irregular noises with his mouth and suddenly the dog was filled with energy again, trying to figure out what had made those sounds.

Jamie laughed. "Only if I manage to finish that assignment and the pre-lab. Otherwise, I might catch a pretty heavy cold tomorrow night."

"If you need help, you can just ask me," Jackson offered.

Outside, Jackson could hear Johanna's car running, and Jackson opened the door slightly, the cold air rushing in very noticeably.

"Thank you so much for having me over," Jackson said, smiling wide in happiness. Everything inside of him felt golden and warm, and it felt like he was taking a piece of this house with him.

"Nah, thank you for coming dude!" Jamie said, advancing towards him (and towards the cold) with his arms up.

When Jamie embraced him, it caught Jackson off-guard. It had been so long since someone had hugged him and embraced him with _feeling_ and even if it lasted only a few seconds, in his memories later that night it would last for minutes on end. With pats on the back, Jamie let go, smiling a toothy grin.

Jackson was smiling wide when he sat down in the front seat. The car smelled heavily of fried chicken and he had to keep his legs to the side to accommodate the food. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the headrest, and just let the feelings wash over him. He felt his mother's eyes on him for a second as the car pulled out of the driveway. When he opened his eyes again, smile still on his face, they were driving down Third Avenue, and Jackson thought the purple hues of the fading sunset had never been this vibrant before.


	14. Chapter 14

Sweat.

There was so much sweat, and it hung in the air, and everything was disgusting. The handles on the lockers felt grimy. The whole locker room was grimy. Coated in whatever foul substances came off of the other boys' bodies. And his own, he figured, but Jackson felt pretty sure that he was cleaner than most of the others.

The sound of showers could be heard from just around the next set of lockers. Jackson had grown up with the notion that showering would be mandatory and that he would have to stand there, covering his naked and lanky body as he vied for tiny droplets of water between two bulky football players. It was much to his pleasure, then, to learn that the times had changed enough that _forcing_ children to get naked on school property and shower wasn't the norm anymore. It was optional, and some of the boys did it. Most of them, actually. Not all, but most. But Jackson, definitely not. Not having the eyes of his classmates on him gave him the luxury of comfort while changing out of his gym clothes. He still hid himself and made sure he was covered while he changed his pants, but having no real observers around him made the process a lot more bearable.

Jackson was standing in front of his open locker, his gym shorts already resting at the bottom in a silky pile. His chest was still moving irregularly, his heart still beating faster than normal. Despite his wiry stature, Jackson could run well enough that he could finish the mile in _reasonable_ time; twenty-five minutes of sprint- and relay-based running, however, was decidedly not within his skillset. He stood there, head spinning (only slightly). His shirt clothing his arms so that all he would have to do is raise them above his head and pull the garment downward. But he waited, the shirt covering only the front of his body; the feeling of not having cloth constricting his already tense muscles momentarily outweighed his modesty. He didn't like being undressed, but it felt different having only his back exposed. Jackson looked down at the shirt — one of his favourites, all white body with long red sleeves and a splash of red in the centre — and noticed not for the first time how seamlessly his skin seemed to blend in with the white. There was pale, and then there was Jackson.

"H-hey," came a tentative voice, and Jackson's almost calmed heart was racing again. He turned all at once towards the voice, collapsing his shoulders and bending down in an attempt to hide _any_ vestige of his bare skin. He looked up from wide eyes at a now thoroughly alarmed Hiccup, and Jackson's pulse only quickened.

They had been talking lately — quite a lot, in fact. Conversation would pick up and end fluidly, and Jackson had learned enough about Hiccup to be able to understand how he spoke (wrote) and what some of the more complicated things he would say meant. He'd actually been coming to look forward to the text messages, once or twice even checking his phone during lunch (he wasn't _sure_ if that was against the rules, but he didn't want to find out). But it was completely different with the boy standing here in front of him. It occurred to Jackson that this was the first time they had actually been around each other since Jackson had asked for his number over a week ago. It had been so easy to imagine the other person he had been texting was someone far away. He hadn't been _denying_ that it was Hiccup, but outside the glances in third period, the other boy was never in Jackson's life. And for all of the comfort Jackson had been kindling with Hiccup over texts, standing here in front of the real-life Hiccup left Jackson nervous. And it definitely didn't help the situation that Jackson wasn't even fully dressed.

He tried not to think about what had happened the last time they had both been here.

"Hi—Ha-Harald," Jackson stammered, hoping he was pronouncing the name correctly. He also realised that this was the first times he'd had to do that.

"H-hey," Hiccup repeated, scratching the back of his head as he spoke and doing his best to avert his gaze from Jackson. The skin between his freckles took on a darker shade of red, and Jackson watched as Hiccup swallowed out of nerves.

Jackson became acutely aware that he still wasn't wearing a shirt and that now he had an audience — that _Hiccup_ was watching. "Exc-excuse me," he stammered awkwardly, turning his back quickly to the other boy. He struggled with the shirt, pulling it down over his head as fast as he was able to, twisting it as it descended along his sides. When he turned around again, Hiccup's mouth was open slightly, his eyes a little bit wider and almost out of focus. A breath passed before Hiccup shook his head, meeting Jackson's gaze again.

Silence lingered between the two of them, only the various sounds of the locker room filling the air between them. Hiccup hadn't changed yet. The small bar piercing his eyebrow and the single ring on his lip were still there, but the other boy's face looked bare without the piercings that typically decorated his ears. His gym shirt was a faded grey tee, the screen logo over the chest (probably for a band Jackson didn't recognise) broken and peeling. Silky black shorts ended slightly below the knees, and the prosthetic was fully visible as the flesh transformed into beautiful metal. Talking to Hiccup — well, everything that had happened but in _particular_ talking to Hiccup — had humanised him enough to see the boy for something other than his missing leg, though Jackson still noticed it every time he saw him in class. And the guilt and pity that he had originally felt had turned into curiosity — and just a hint of fascination. The polished, black design was sleek, but it was the deep grooves and ridges that wove across the surface that gave the limb its style. The boy moved with a fluidity that was every bit natural, and it was somewhat beautiful in Jackson's eyes to watch the metal move as though blood pumped through it and tendons pulled at the foot. For what self-consciousness the boy showed about its appearance, he was able to move and function with two working legs, at least as far as Jackson could see. Hidden behind white socks and old grey trainers, the boy looked every bit a typical boy — just, a multicoloured one.

Jackson could feel the tips of his ears burning under the pressure of the situation. He didn't know what to say — _he_ hadn't started the conversation that was going nowhere — but Hiccup looked considerably more flustered than he had a second ago. After what was surely forever, Hiccup finally bit his lower lip, the piercing disappearing into his mouth for a moment. He caught Jackson's gaze but looked away quickly.

"S-so, I wanted to ask you a question, if you're okay with that," he said, voice cautious.

Jackson only nodded his head, hoping that that would be enough; he felt the certainty that if he tried to speak, he would have to do so through mangled versions of his own voice. It was, however, as Hiccup responded with an abrupt nod of his own.

"I was, uh, was wondering which lunch period you had." His eyes darted to the corner while he spoke, but when he finished he managed to look up towards Jackson. There was a childlike earnestness in his gaze that Jackson could see before the eyes slid away again, intent to look anywhere but at Jackson — which he was perfectly fine with.

Jackson could feel his right arm twitch slightly before he answered. When he did, the words were drawn out a bit more than normal. "Second lunch," was all he needed to say. As he did, though, Hiccup looked up at him again, this time with more confidence; the visible anxiety of mere moments ago had given way to enthusiasm now, and Jackson was a bit startled. It was weird actually seeing the boy he spoke to so often... actually _speaking_ to him the same way his texts read.

"Oh, awesome! Same here. Which was actually why I came to ask you," Hiccup began, slight smile creeping across his mouth. "I was wondering — _if_ you wanted — if you wanted to come eat lunch with me."

Jackson hadn't been sure what he had expected from the conversation, but it hadn't been this. He'd never even seen Hiccup during his lunch period before, though he supposed that wasn't too improbable given there were hundreds of kids, and Jackson made a dash to get there as early as possible before the cafeteria filled up and all the food was taken. But here was Hiccup, asking if Jackson actually wanted to spend time together. Jackson ate alone, and so really he had no excuse to decline him, other than the immediate desire to do so. It felt instinctual, though he wasn't sure if this was because of Hiccup or because somebody had asked him. He tried to imagine Jamie asking Hiccup to eat lunch with him, and Jackson was positive he would say yes to him. Silence elapsed between the two boys as Jackson tried to think of an excuse to say no. He wanted to find a way to turn down the offer without feeling bad about it, but the more he tried to think the hazier his mind became, until finally Jackson wasn't actually making any progress thinking anymore — everything was just a noisy mess of grey in his head.

He gave up. There was nothing that he could think of to decline Hiccup's offer; he had no excuse he could use that he'd came up with. He'd probably been sending hundreds of text messages to this boy every day now, and Hiccup was only asking to do this in person, which — Jackson accepted — _was_ a natural progression of how these things worked.

Besides, he'd already turned Hiccup down before out of instinct, he reasoned, and that had only lead to regret and feeling awful about himself. He figured that for once now, he probably needed to ignore his instincts in favour of the boy, since so far his instincts hadn't gotten him that far at all. And he supposed he owed Hiccup as much, anyways.

Plus, it was only lunch.

"Uh, sure; yeah," Jackson replied, and as he continued Hiccup's face lit up in a (somewhat distracting) smile. "I'm free if you want to eat lunch together."

* * *

School began at 7:30 in the morning and went until 2:30 in the afternoon. Each class period was 50 minutes in length, with a 5 minute break in between to allow students to visit their lockers and move to their next classroom. Lunch was, for everybody, during their fifth period class, which was split into three separate groups. To prevent swarming of the cafeteria, a third of the students would attend the first lunch period, which lasted for thirty minutes; then, another third of the students would attend the second lunch period for thirty minutes, and same for the third period. Which lunch group you had was determined by the class you had during fifth period. First lunch were the sciences and histories; second lunch were mathematics, English, and foreign languages; third lunch were physical education, art, music, and all other elective courses. Students were allowed to leave the school to get lunch from a restaurant only if they were seniors or if they had a permission slip to do so; for the rest of the students, they ate in the cafeteria or brought their own lunch, and the remainder of the lunch period was spent socialising or working on homework. Because of this dynamic, fifth period was technically an hour and a half, though students only spent it in class for sixty minutes. Which meant that fifth period was abnormally long — ten minutes longer than all of the other periods.

Of course, for Jackson today, fifth period German was going by too quickly.

There was a quiz today at the start off class; Not a major test, which came at the end of every two chapters; the quizzes were every chapter, and were meant as a benchmark to gauge progress rather than strictly as a grade. Normally, Jackson was the first or second student to finish. He didn't race taking the quiz like he saw other students doing; he just knew the answers without needing to stop and return to a question later. But Jackson didn't finish first, second, third — when he finally flipped his quiz face down, he realised he was the last person to finish, and he caught the inquisitive eye of his teacher.

Every question of the quiz had been riddled with Hiccup, Hiccup, Hiccup. Jackson might have accepted his offer to eat lunch with him, but he was so horribly anxious for it. Worry (and more than a bit of nausea) rested at the bottom of his stomach and it took him two, even three tries to read each question and actually process what was being asked. Answering them had been equally challenging. He felt certain that he could hear the long hand on the clock ticking by with each heartbeat, and when he finally dared to look at the clock after turning in his paper, his stomach dropped a degree lower to see that the quiz had taken them twenty minutes. Already, some students around him were pulling their packed lunches from their backpack, making sure they had easy access to it so they could dash out as soon as the bell rang.

_'Relax, Jackson. You're not waiting to be executed. This isn't that scary. You're just eating lunch with him. Relax. Nothing bad is going to happen. There's going to be an entire lunchroom of people around you both. You talk with him every day for hours; what are you worried about?'_

But Jackson knew what he was afraid of: he was afraid of not having control over his life anymore. He'd glown — very few people had that happen ( _relatively_ few people, at least). He didn't have the chance to decide for himself who his soulmate was. There was no way he'd have chosen Hiccup if he had been given the choice — but he hadn't been given the choice. He didn't have to _listen_ to his body, listen to the Glow. Some people didn't. But Jackson wasn't sure he'd have that option, either; he was talking with Hiccup, after all. Sooner or later, that fact would surface again, and Jackson was allowing the other boy to get closer and closer. He wouldn't have the choice to be able to stay just friends; he wouldn't have the choice to not date Hiccup; he wouldn't have the choice to live his own life and make his own decisions. It would just be a natural progression of growing closer until it was acceptable for Hiccup to take his hand and kiss him, and Jackson wouldn't be able to say no because this was chosen for him. Today was another step further down that same line, with everything falling into place; anxiety and fear gripped at him to realise that this was just one move closer to the point where Jackson wouldn't be able to make any more moves.

It was his lack of choice — his _inability_ to make choices for himself — that haunted Jackson and brought this upon him. He wanted to be able to undo that moment in the locker room and have the Glow never have happened at all. But he wasn't able to undo it all, and so now he was wishing he had second-best choice: he wanted all of this to be over and gone and forgotten. He wanted to be able to tell Hiccup that he was only Jackson's friend and that that was all he would ever be. He wanted to be able to move past this so he could _actually_ make his own choice about who he would love. He really _hadn't_ realised how easy it had been to simply forget who Hiccup was while texting him. And yet here he was, about to meet with his spouse in this arranged marriage. All of the memories of laying awake at night with the hopeful gleam reflected in the stars outside his window, thinking about the day when he would be swept off his feet by the perfect soulmate — Jackson felt the initial rush of his stomach upwards, turning quickly towards the trashbin before it caught in his throat, leaving him only with the foul aftertaste of a particularly violent gag.

_'Great. As if I didn't have enough problems already.'_

He hadn't even had the choice to say no to lunch.

When the bell for lunch finally sounded, it was almost immediately punctuated by a growl from Jackson's stomach. As much as he was vehemently dreading going to lunch, he couldn't keep himself from being so terribly hungry. His stomach was craving food, even while it threatened to upend itself. He felt certain that he wouldn't be able to put food in himself and it felt like a torturous situation — unable to eat but starving for food.

A glimmer of hope shone through for Jackson as he pulled the least greasiest slice of pizza he could find onto his styrofoam tray: Hiccup hadn't said where, or when, to meet. As he stood in line with a fruit cup and small pint of milk, something like a wave of relief came over Jackson. He might be able to wait for Hiccup for a minute and then leave and tell Hiccup that he couldn't find him. Jackson could get out of lunch without feeling bad and without lying to Hiccup ( _too_ much, at least). Still, a slight pang of pity for Hiccup stung at Jackson. As much as he was scared for the situation, he felt sorry for the other boy who was so eager for something that Jackson didn't want to happen at all. It didn't change Jackson's mind any, but he still a bit felt sorry for him.

Six dollars poorer and three minutes later found Jackson on the other side of the cashier, standing with his back to the tables of the lunchroom but off to the side. The lunchroom was a truly massive area, littered with columns that created a wide opening on the ground floor that probably measured a fifth the blueprint of the school. It served both as a lunchroom as well as a commons for the students, and when class wasn't in session it was always full of students and the din of activity and conversation. In a jungle of tall concrete pillars, it would be easy for Jackson to remain out of sight if he wanted, hidden without hiding. Jackson glanced at the clock, watching as the second hand danced closer and closer to a full circuit; he had decided to give Hiccup exactly three minutes to not show up without Jackson feeling guilty. 180 seconds; 84 breaths; less than 240 heartbeats — it was so easy for Jackson to assuage himself that very little could actually happen in three minutes.

"Hey!" a voice cut trough the air close behind Jackson at 72 seconds, startling the pale boy so suddenly and violently that he actually jumped, nearly upending his tray as his body responded as best it could with a defensive stance. He hadn't heard the other boy approaching behind him at all, and he had actually managed to convince himself that Hiccup wouldn't show up in time. Jackson turned slowly towards the other boy. Hiccup was smiling a toothy smile and his shoulders were rising and falling in pronounced motion; however Hiccup had arrived to the cafeteria, he had done so quickly. Jackson smiled out of reflex and he let it last a few precious seconds before allowing it to fade.

"Are you getting food?" Jackson asked, nodding towards Hiccup's empty hands. The other boy's smile turned into a close-mouthed grin, but his eyes didn't lose the same gleam of happiness.

"I wanted to make sure to find you first before I got it," he explained, hands moving unbidden to emphasise his point. "I'll go grab it now, but I wanted to make sure I knew where you were waiting for me." Jackson's saving grace had occurred to Hiccup as well.

"Sure," Jackson replied, injecting false pleasure into every word he spoke. "I'll just be right here." With that, Hiccup gave Jackson a second smile before heading towards the cafeteria proper, turning around to call back that he wouldn't be very long and almost knocking into a girl who had just paid for her food. And something about seeing the other boy — even decked out in a sleeveless, tattered black vest and with thick, dark cords plentiful on his wrists — catching the girl's plate and helping her to stabalise herself, something about that gave Jackson a slight drop of relief to his lake of worry that he couldn't explain immediately, but which he figured out to be relief that Hiccup wasn't as bad a person as he looked to be. An illusion that Jackson continued to perpetuate.

 _'How much does he have to do to at_ least _convince you that he isn't a monster?'_ Jackson's inner voice asked. Jackson tried to dismiss it with a violent shake of his head, but the thought seemed lodged in place.

It was almost eight minutes before Hiccup was finally emerging at the head of the lunch line. He hadn't counted but Jackson was certain that the three lunch ladies had collected lunch fare from at least a hundred students, dismissing them into the sea of tables that sat behind Jackson. The feeling of nervousness didn't go away the closer Hiccup moved towards Jackson, but there was nothing that the boy could do about it and so he did his best to push it down and suppress it. Jackson could have left and run away, but the time for that had long since passed. He wasn't sure if he was filled with rational or irrational worry anymore, but right now there wasn't anything he could do about it other than suffer. He would push down the pain and suffer through it.

It wasn't working very well but at least he was trying, though he wasn't sure for whose sake he was doing so.

"Sorry to keep you waiting for so long; your food's probably cold by now," Hiccup said with an apologetic frown on his face as he came to a stop before Jackson. His lunch tray looked decidedly more full than Jackson's own, with a chicken sandwich wrapped in thermal paper and a basket of fries taking up most of the space on the white styrofoam. "I hope there're still seats out there. I should have let you go ahead and grab some and start eating."

"It's, uh, it's fine," Jackson said, voice a little rough before he cleared his throat. He used the opportunity to turn quickly and survey the tables of the cafeteria. Despite the presence of probably close to thirty long lunch tables set in rows across the otherwise open space, and despite the fact that only a third of the student body was at lunch right now, there still weren't enough spaces for the students to sit. Some of them were resting up against the wall, sitting on the painfully hard industrial carpet of the floor, eating in small circles and probably in someone's way. This whole area would be a fire evacuation disaster, but the teachers had stopped enforcing any rule on the chaos when even they realised: there really _weren't_ enough seats here, and even the staff knew that. Hiccup started moving down the central walkway that divided the otherwise unbroken strips of tables, Jackson trailing behind him. Scanning the faces of the crowd, there weren't pairs of seats open anymore; the groups of friends had fit themselves imperfectly onto the tables, leaving only single seats open here and there in which Jackson would normally find himself as he opened a book or played his DS while he ate. Jackson looked over to Hiccup, whose mouth was set in a contemplative frown, and Jackson wondered if they would separate for today since there was nowhere for them to sit.

"I guess there isn't... Here, follow me," Hiccup said, turning halfway to face Jackson but head still looking over the crowd in front of him. He continued walking down the column of the lunchroom.

The lunchroom, being the commons for the school, had no doors; it was open completely to the hallways that intersected with it, which made for a somewhat loud background noise for the classrooms that were unfortunately close to the lunchroom. As Hiccup moved towards the hallway directing them towards the the maths department, a pang of worry pierced at Jackson's heart. If you weren't allowed to sit on the floors of the cafeteria, you _definitely_ weren't allowed to leave it with food and eat elsewhere in the school. This was absolutely against the rules and Jackson _really_ didn't feel like getting in trouble for this.

"Harald, I don't think we're supposed to leave here," Jackson worried as he caught up with Hiccup. They had already moved into the hallway by the time that Hiccup could respond.

"It's fine; I have a spot that I'll usually go to for lunch anyways. I've only had a teacher find me once," he said, voice an attempt at reassurance. This did nothing for Jackson's pounding pulse, and he wanted to turn back but his feet were moving after the boy on their own. Hiccup lead them around one corner, walking down the hallway past classrooms — both with closed doors as well as open — and Jackson liked this less and less the further they got from the cafeteria. He wanted to trust that Hiccup actually knew what he was talking about — just so that he wouldn't need to worry about this as well as about Hiccup — but that was proving difficult to do. It would be uncouth to do so, but he reasoned that if they were caught he could blame this on Hiccup. Jackson didn't really like the idea of throwing Hiccup under the bus (even if it _was_ the truth) though; this whole situation would just be so much better if they had simply chosen a tiny spot along the wall of the cafeteria. They wouldn't need to worry about being caught just for eating.

And, they would also be surrounded by other people. Jackson supposed the proper word would be "witnesses," though he didn't like the implications it had.

Hiccup lead them through the doors to a stairwell at the back of the school, Jackson wondering how much further this was going to be. For all of the nervousness about the _everything_ of this situation, he really _was_ hungry and just wanted to eat his food in peace. If this was going to be an adventure spanning multiple floors of the school, this was going to be the worst lunch he'd had since he'd bought an expired milk jug. But Hiccup walked alongside the staircase, ducking under the incline and out of view.

 _'So in addition to eating outside the lunchroom and eating alone, we're now going to be eating — under a staircase — hidden from view completely.'_ Jackson wasn't sure if this made the situation worse or better. They really _weren't_ likely to be caught, but they were also _entirely_ alone.

Hiccup's head peeked out from behind the staircase, shaggy brown hair on a disembodied head. "We're here," he said needlessly. Jackson closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hanging his head in the process. If he was going to back out of this, he should have done so long before.

As Jackson moved under the staircase, his first thought was how... nice it was. He had expected it to be dusty and grimy and dirty and littered with gum underneath, but this was a staircase in the new part of the school. Everything in the new section had been built with evident money behind it, and even this stairwell was surprisingly pleasing. The whole area had the same industrial blue carpet that covered most of the school's flooring, and the stairwell was an emergency fire escape — there were doors through which he was able to see the world outside. The whole area was lit by natural light that came through the massive windows all along the outside wall, and even the doors were made of the same thick glass. The area was large, probably more so than it needed to be even, if it was an emergency exit. But that fit with the mentality they had built on to the school with — "everything bright, beautiful, lavish, and large." Even the underside of the staircase was well maintained. There were two pieces of gum stuck underneath, but they were far away from where Jackson set himself down on.

This was actually... kind of an okay place to eat lunch.

Hiccup sat with his back to the stairwell, far enough away from it so that he didn't need to duck his head or arch his back where he was seated. Jackson set himself down across from him leaving a little bit of extra room between them, making sure to keep his lunch tray on his lap at all times; this was a nice part of the school, but it was still the floor of it, under a stairwell. Hiccups hands were placed on either side of his tray and it wasn't until Jackson was done moving himself into a comfortable position that Hiccup's hands moved, beginning to unwrap his food. Jackson was thankful that the attention was, at least momentarily, off of him directly.

The smell of the food had been too strong for too long, and Jackson's stomach growled again at him loudly. He could feel his cheeks flush with colour and he looked away towards the wall. This was just one terrible disaster of a lunch.

"I usually come here even when the lunchroom isn't as crowded," Hiccup said, and Jackson looked back at him with a mix of surprise and relief that he hadn't commented on it. "I started coming here with Astrid last year when we had lunch together, and I guess I just kept it up this year. It's really peaceful and quiet here. Way better than the lunchroom."

"It... really is," Jackson replied, not sure what else he should continue on with.

"God, I'm sorry that I held us up for so long. Let's eat, though," Hiccup said, taking a bite out of the sandwich. Jackson held the awkward, rectangular slice of pizza and followed suit.

The two boys sat in silence for a full minute eating their food. Jackson didn't want to maintain eye contact, instead taking a particular interest in the brick wall, counting the number of bricks that formed a single row and trying to estimate how many bricks composed the entire left wall of the stairwell. He did his best to not show how uncomfortable he felt or to be rude but he knew he wasn't succeeding. When he would glance over though, Hiccup would be staring off at a point beyond Hiccup's shoulder, apparently deep in thought. He would blink and look at Jackson when the boy turned his head, but at least he wasn't watching Jackson intently.

"I don't understand how you can eat that," Hiccup finally said, breaking the silence. Jackson turned his attention back to Hiccup, feeling as though now he was staring too intently at the other boy. He tried to shake it.

"What?"

"I'm not sure how you can eat that. The crust tastes like cardboard and the whole thing is drenched in grease and too much cheese." Jackson looked down at the half of a pizza still left in his hand, contemplating its existence now.

"I— yeah," he said, kicking himself for sounding stupid. "But I can't understand how you can eat that. Way too much salt for me."

"True that, though," Hiccup replied, throwing the French fry in his mouth. "School lunch really fuckin' sucks," he said after a moment, letting out a small chuckle.

Jackson couldn't control himself. He knew it wasn't funny at all, but the situation was so tense that the sudden break from it completely had Jackson snorting into his milk carton, the milk bubbling as it splashed at his nose. Then he was wiping uncomfortably at his nose, laughter racking his body in waves from the release of tension and embarrassment. Hiccup, for his part, was staring at Jackson with amused curiosity before he began laughing as well, confused hesitance at first. It took a bit for the two to slow down, laughter fading into contented sighs.

"That was embarrassing," Jackson said aloud, the words coming easily without thinking.

"Just a bit," Hiccup responded, eyes crinkling in the afterglow of laughter. He took a deep breath, reclining his neck; Jackson could see faint stubble growing along the contours of his jaw from this angle. After a moment, he looked back towards Jackson. "So, you also have math right now?"

"German. Fourth period is math," Jackson corrected.

"Oh, gotcha," Hiccup nodded. "So — say something for me in German."

"You can't just put me on the spot like that."

"Oh come on," Hiccup grinned while rolling his eyes. "It doesn't have to be anything complicated. Just say something for me in German."

"What am I supposed to talk about?"

"Just say anything."

Jackson thought for a moment. "Wir haben unsere Mittagessen in die Schule gegessen," he said shakily, realising he'd completely botched up the genders after he finished speaking.

"Awesome," Hiccup replied, ignoring Jackson's flustered attempts to correct himself. "What did you say?"

"Oh, uh— I said that we're eating our lunch in school. It's really dumb, but that was all I could think of," he said, embarrassed now by just how simplistic and unoriginal the sentence had been. Hiccup's expression didn't change however, eyebrows still raised slightly.

"How long have you been taking German?" he asked, looking back at Jackson after a moment.

"Uh, just since last year."

"Why'd you wind up taking German?"

"I dunno. Spanish didn't really interest me. Sign language would be neat, but I don't think I'd be able to move my hands that quickly or be able to remember all of the words. French sounded cool but I guess I just decided to take German," he shrugged.

"I'm actually taking French this year," Hiccup replied, Jackson nodding in acknowledgement. "Only level one, though. So I can say a whole lot of nothing important right now. Unless you want to know about eating a red apple — I can give you a lot of 'I am eating a red apple.'" He rolled his eyes, and Jackson found himself laughing again.

The conversation took on a lighthearted nature. After the initial awkwardness had passed, the two lapsed into talking. When he realised it, it actually sounded to Jackson just the same as what talking over their phones was like. The more they talked, the more Jackson loosened up; Hiccup was as surprisingly talkative as he was when texting, and he was able to keep the conversation going no matter what it shifted to.

"No, yeah. She seems absolutely hell-bent on driving home that it's a 90 degree angle between the two lines. Like, I've been drawing squares since before I could write my name. I'm pretty sure it doesn't take a college degree to figure out a square is made of four right angles," Hiccup said, rolling his eyes. "I can't believe that geometry has to be an entire year."

"Well hey, sometimes it could be 80 degrees if you really suck at drawing it," Jackson tried at a joke, groaning internally at just how unfunny that had been. But all the same, Hiccup snorted, shaking his head.

"True, I've seen some _really_ bad drawing in there. This one kid had to draw an isosceles triangle and — swear to God — it looked like a trapezoid. Like, how do you fuck up _that_ badly?"

When the bell for the end of second lunch rang a few minutes later, the two were laughing over another (really awful) attempt at a joke. Jackson was leaning back slightly against his backpack, body no longer rigidly straight. His tray sat in front of him, neglected, food still uneaten. After a long moment Hiccup picked up his tray, availing to stand up in the narrow space. Jackson did likewise, pins shooting through his right leg. He shook it, wincing at the pain.

"You okay?" Hiccup asked him, confused concern on his face.

"Yeah. My leg just fell asleep is all."

The two left the stairwell side-by-side, walking the length of the maths department now in reverse.

"Thanks for joining me," Hiccup said, stopping in the middle of the hallway at the juncture between the department and the hallway towards the commons.

"Oh, are you not—?" Jackson nodded towards the tray in Hiccup's hand.

"Nah. There's a janitor's trashcan outside my classroom; I just throw it in there before I go in."

"Ah, gotcha," Jackson replied, silence following him for a moment. "I'll see you tomorrow then, I guess."

"Yeah," Hiccup said, smiling and nodding his head emphatically. With a short wave goodbye, Jackson turned into the hallway towards the lunchroom, already seeing people begin to fill into it for third lunch. As he approached one of the bins that sat along the perimeter of the open area, he picked up the pizza for a final bite of his lunch. All of the warmth had left it; he hadn't touched it for a few minutes now, and it had spent an entire lunch period cooling off. He took a bite and realised that Hiccup had been right — this was no better than soggy cardboard.

He didn't think he'd be ordering more pizza from school anytime soon.


	15. Chapter 15

Jackson didn't need to open his eyes to know Bunnymund was getting dangerously close to the edge of the bed. It was a habit of his that he hadn't outgrown as he had gotten older — jumping (sometimes falling) from the bed to the floor. It wouldn't be much of a problem if he were a cat; but this rabbit in particular seemed completely unable to land gracefully (or even safely). Jackson wasn't sure if Bunnymund was foolhardy, or if he was just stupid — as in, _actually_ stupid. Either way, it was pretty clear from the rustle of the sheets that he was preparing for another skydiving experience.

Jackson had done this so many times that he didn't need to open his eyes; he simply reached out blindly, grabbing the bunny by the side and pulling him backwards. Jackson rolled over, using his second hand to pick up the rabbit, depositing him immediately in front of Jackson, tucking him close. It always felt really nice to have another living being pressed against him. Comforting. It made him feel less alone, even when he wasn't aware that he was feeling alone.

But Jackson didn't feel alone today.

He just felt overwhelmed.

He stroked the rabbit with some force, willing the creature to remain where it was. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it caused a feverish dash away.

"I ate lunch with Hiccup today," he confessed after a moment. He opened his eyes, quickly turning them towards the door to make sure that he was actually alone. It was an innocent enough statement, but Jackson wasn't ready to share any of this with his family. He wasn't ready to share _Hiccup_. Jackson still wasn't sure he couldn't just find a way to ease out of Hiccup's life without ever needing to mention the boy to his family. Though, he admitted to himself, he wasn't _entirely_ sure he wanted to do that any more. He had managed to forget for a moment during lunch what Hiccup actually was to him. For a split second, Hiccup was just another boy. Another boy who could actually become a friend. For a moment, everything had been so simple, and that had made everything so complicated, because he'd had a chance to experience what it would be like to be friends with Hiccup in a normal life. And Jackson wanted more of that. But no amount of these precious moments would actually take away the reality of Jackson's situation. He'd had just enough of a taste of what he couldn't have to wish that he could have more of it. More 'simple', more 'innocent'.

Jackson wasn't prepared to tell his mother he had glown; certainly not for someone who looked like Hiccup. Jackson had never even dated, so telling his mother that he had found his soulmate — even if there was no intention of _accepting_ his soulmate — was not something that Jackson was planning on doing ever. He was perfectly fine with his mother forever seeing him as the virtuous, pure virgin never sullied by romance, heartbreak, or even swooning (which, admittedly, was actually all the truth).

Jackson felt the rabbit leave his side, moving over to the other side of the bed where he proceeded to continue eating the baby carrots that Jackson would feed him every few days. He changed the treat daily — sometimes fruit, sometimes vegetable — but today Jackson felt like relaxing and so the best choice was something that wouldn't leave stains on his comforter.

It took courage to be able to continue confiding in his confidant the things that he locked up in his mind.

"I didn't think it would be, but... it was actually pretty okay. Actually had... fun. I'm kind of looking forward to it tomorrow," he said, the words coming up broken and arrhythmical. "It's— it's really weird, Bun. I'm still having a hard time seeing him as a decent person, let alone someone I could consider a friend. He looks just like the other guys who beat me up. In a way, I suppose I'm waiting for that to happen still. He seems to be a nice person, but I really—.

"But he's also supposed to be my soulmate. And I'm not ready for that; him especially, but even a soulmate at all. This is going nothing like what I wanted. I'm still hoping that I'll glow for someone else later. I'm pretty sure I've heard stories of people glowing for more than one person before. 'Cause Hiccup could be a friend, but I'm just not ready for— I'm not ready—" Jackson caught himself. It might be true, but saying that he wasn't ready to accept Hiccup as being his soulmate wasn't something he wanted to admit aloud. It was the truth, but the truth wasn't always something kind.

Jackson rolled on his side to watch Bunnymund begin eating the last carrot. Despite the confessions Jackson had just made, he looked utterly disinterested in his caretaker as the snack began to more and more disappear in his mouth. Jackson turned back again with a deep sigh as Bunnymund sniffed at the now-empty spot where his carrots had been deposited. He could feel the stare of those black eyes on him, waiting for him to put down more treats. But those were all he was getting tonight, and the fact that the ingrate was ignoring his revelations did absolutely nothing to soften Jackson's heart. He didn't expect the rabbit to respond to him, but would it have hurt him to at least nuzzle at his side?

"I want to keep him as only a friend, Bunny. But how do I do that? I can't just _tell_ him that... can I?"

The boy looked sideways just in time to watch Bunnymund make a slow, head-first descent down the bed that definitely resulted in a pool of inelegant grey rabbit. Jackson let out a long-suffering sigh. With the exception of Jamie, it really seemed like none of the boys in Jackson's life were very well-suited for him. Certainly not this dumb rabbit. Bunnymund was lucky that Jackson had a soft spot for him; Jackson couldn't imagine him surviving very long without an attentive caretaker. He groaned and rolled his eyes as he reached over the edge of the bed and picked up the rabbit for the third time this evening.

* * *

"And so you have to go on these different missions, where you rescue or find different characters from different alien races; and they're supposed to help you take down this rogue agent — they're called 'Spectres' — the whole order, I mean, not just that one agent."

"Uh-huh."

"But all of the missions are really different and have different themes. And so like, in one you need to go and help someone restock his emergency health clinic that he set up for the poor— no, wait. You need to take out this group of thugs who are trying to destroy the clinic. Then he joins you as the medic."

"Okay."

"I mean, they all take on certain roles when you're playing — you only get to choose two of them at a time to come with you on missions, so you need to figure out what's important to you to actually be useful. Most of the time I take Kaidan, the guy I was telling you about earlier, and the asari Liara."

"The asari?"

"Oh, yeah. They're this race of blue human-like aliens. Except they're all female. They also have these, like, tentacle things on the top of their head that are brushed back like hair. Except I'm pretty sure they're skin. The asari don't actually have hair. But I think they're meant to bring in the male players, since they're still made to look like really attractive women, and there _are_ only female asari, so..."

"I can't imagine a race of tentacle-haired blue women being very attractive."

"Well, I mean, they've got, uh," Jackson paused for a moment. "Well I mean, they've got boobs."

"Ah. That changes everything, then," Hiccup replied. "Wait, but if they're only female, how do they reproduce?"

"Honestly, I don't remember if they say anything about that in the games. They might have, but that's not really the point of the game. I mean, you've got the ability to romance one of them and sleep with them, but it's not a dating game. The romance is just something on the side that you can do if you really want to."

Jackson was in this conversation far deeper than he had intended to go, with him now explaining the world of Mass Effect to a surprisingly not-bored-to-tears Hiccup. Hiccup had asked Jackson about video games he liked, Jackson thinking as he gave names out on a list. Hiccup had nodded along with each name in acknowledgement (something Jackson hoped to follow up with after this was done) until Jackson had said 'Oh yeah, the Mass Effect series'. Hiccup had cocked his head to the side in confusion and repeated the name. Then it became a blur of explanation — way more explanation that was necessary, Jackson knew. He'd already been talking for three minutes now.

"Okay, okay. So wait. You're telling me that humans leave earth, only to find: a race of battle-ready grasshoppers; giant, angry, pissed-off frogs; some race you can't even describe; and tentacle-haired blue women. And we want to join them to kill off one of those grasshoppers."

"Well, you're missing the—," Jackson frowned, annoyed — before realising that the entire breadth of knowledge Hiccup had was from what he had just told the boy. "Well okay, yes. But they're kind of hard to describe, and they look a lot better in the game than I've made them sound. But it really doesn't matter too much what they look like. The focus is the story about humans being brought into a galactic community that distrusts them, and trying to convince a council that one of their most trusted agents is trying to destroy them and open the door for the Reapers to return."

Hiccup cocked an eyebrow. "Reapers?"

Jackson actually clamped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide. He hadn't meant to say that. He'd been so good not giving away any of the plot twists, and here he'd just managed to give away one of the core ones in the first game. "I — ignore that, please. I didn't mean to say that."

Hiccup smiled, the skin at his eyes crinkling slightly. It was warm, and what looked like amusement danced across his eyes.

Their lunch trays were set off to the side, both empty of food. Today had been faster. Jackson still had the same hesitation when Hiccup steered them out towards the hallway, but when they arrived, lunch was different than yesterday. Or, mostly; it still took Jackson a few minutes to warm up, to loosen up again. But it came much easier this time.

Jackson had been talking for most of lunch, he suddenly realised. Hiccup had been asking questions — sincere questions — and Jackson had begun answering them with more than a word, then with more than a sentence. The tipping point had been when Hiccup first asked Jackson about video games. It was definitely the nerdiest conversation (if a one-way monologue could be considered a conversation) he'd had in a very long time — probably because he didn't have many conversations outside of Jamie and Merida — but he couldn't stop talking, and Hiccup wasn't showing any signs of boredom. Jackson wasn't sure if he might not just be able to win him over to these games yet.

_If_ he managed to describe them with due justice.

_And_ not spoil them even further.

"It's— Okay, so the game has some really strange people and aliens in it, but it's really well made. You get wrapped up in this story and in finding out about the new technology, and you don't realise that you're meeting something that you'd probably find stupid elsewhere; they're just, like, new characters. But the story is amazing, and the characters are so real, and the way they interact — I honestly haven't played a game where the characters felt so real or that forced me to make _actually_ painful decisions and sacrifices before. The combat is amazing — though it gets better in the second game — and just, this has got to be one of my favourite games."

Hiccup thought for a moment, eyebrows tensing. "So, how is it compared to Halo?" he asked.

"What do you mean? Gameplay-wise? Story-wise? Graphics?"

"I dunno. All three, I guess? Halo sounds like the closest game to this that I've played," he confessed. Jackson thought he detected a very slight duck of sheepishness, but it was gone before he could actually figure out what it was.

"Well, have you played the story for Halo? Or just the multiplayer matches?"

Hiccup paused. When he spoke this time, Jackson could definitely detect the sheepishness this time, and Hiccup looked almost apologetic. "I've... only played the matches," he said, quickly following up before Jackson could respond. "I don't actually own any game consoles myself; my dad doesn't think I need them, and I've got enough other things to do that I've never really... uh, wanted to fight back against him. So all of my gaming is what I do with Finn when I go over to his house. And we just play against each other. Of course, he's a lot better than me, but I've gotten better I think. And that wasn't the question at all, was it."

Jackson laughed, covering his mouth with his wrist as he looked away.

"Hey! Don't laugh at me," Hiccup chided, which did absolutely nothing to keep Jackson from continue grinning. It took a moment for Jackson to look back at Hiccup.

"Well, I guess the stories for Halo and Mass Effect are... somewhat close? And the gameplay and combat sort of are as well, but Mass Effect doesn't have multiplayer so you only get to fight the computer — which is a lot easier than playing against people. Except in Mass Effect, you also have this power — like the Force from Star Wars — so that makes battles sort of different from Halo. Halo is more fast-paced when you're playing against other people; things happen immediately, whereas with Mass Effect, the battles are a lot more drawn out. _I_ think, at least. I don't play Halo multiplayer all that often."

Hiccup cocked his head again. "Oh? Who do you play with when you do?"

"Uh... nobody, really. When I do multiplayer, I just play matches online with random people."

"Don't you have anybody to play with?" Hiccup asked sincerely. But it didn't stop the words from searing into Jackson. His eyes fell quickly even as his shoulders hunched slightly, a searing pain stinging at his chest. "Oh," Hiccup said after a moment of silence between the two. "Then! We need to get you some to play with. I have a feeling you'll be a hell of a lot better than I am against Finn. Sometime I should have you meet him. I swear, if you could wipe the grin off his face at the end of a match, I would pay you twenty dollars."

Jackson looked up at Hiccup with surprise and just a little eagerness, and for the moment, he forgot that he was supposed to be afraid.

* * *

_'Out of the Enlightenment came the idea that the individual had **natural rights** , or privileges that could not be taken away from them. Popular amongst these were: equality before the law; freedom of religious worship; freedom of speech; freedom of the press; the right to assemble. While these were not universally accepted by the rulers of Europe, the idea that even the poor had basic rights to their life swept through a Europe that had long seen oppression by the gentry. In order to quell impending revolutions, the monarchs needed to find ways to appease the citizens, and they found it through **enlightened absolutism.**_

_'Enlightened absolutism was also a child of the Enlightenment, and one which appealed greatly to those in power. Most philosophes agreed that while the common man had natural rights, they needed a strong power to provide them the direction to lead their lives — an **enlightened ruler**. Assuming the role, the monarchs and landed gentry throughout most of Europe began to portray themselves as the ideal model, and in some places to allow (supervised) privileges be granted to be given out, so long as they were the ones still in control.'_

Jackson continued rereading the last sentence of the paragraph, moving his fingers automatically to pick up his pencil. A fresh sheet of notebook paper sat open next to the textbook and, pencil in hand, he began to fill the sheet with notes about enlightened absolutism.

Chapter 17 had ended earlier that day, finishing on the French and Indian War and William Pitt. Each chapter in AP Euro was fast-paced; chapter 17 had begun only a week before winter break. Ms. Ana had lamented greatly that the chapter was to be broken up by two weeks of vacation, but there had been nothing she could do. Because the AP exams were coming closer and closer, and because the exams were always weeks before the end of the schoolyear, she had less time than other classes had to teach more than other classes did. The test for chapter 17 would be on the coming Monday; it had been her way of apologising for the mid-chapter interruption, by giving the students the weekend to be able to review. But Chapter 18 would begin tomorrow, and already there was reading assigned from the first twenty pages of the chapter.

It was only Wednesday, however, and Jackson was sitting in the school's library after the final bell had rung. Even though it was almost a week away, he wanted to make sure he began reviewing now. Over the next five days, he would pour over dozens of books outside his textbook, reconstructing all of the information he could find. Blank flashcards were already in a pile above his hand. It was habit that Jackson would take notes in class, but would also take notes again from the books as he went.

There had been one time. Third grade. Ms. Polenski's class. It was a science test about different marine animals. It had been one of the first tests he had taken that really mattered; everything before then had been spelling tests and simple maths quizzes. And so Jackson hadn't known how to study for this _actual_ test. So he had looked through the textbook, memorising names of the creatures as well as which layer of the ocean they lived in. He'd read aloud from his small book, Johanna sitting behind him and helping to correct him when he'd made a mistake. Then the day of the test came, and as he faced his paper, the blank lines opened up before him. It had been the scariest day of his life: staring at the paper, unable to answer the questions because all he had learned was in the immutable order of the textbook he had memorised in a sing-song voice. Shaky hands had scribbled down his best guesses, but they hadn't been good enough. Jackson had cried the entire night when he brought home the test, a red zero filled with a frowny face in the centre. Johanna had let him stay home the following day.

Every test since that day, Jackson prepared for extensively. He made sure to take notes, break down the words, make idea clouds on the back of his papers. Flashcards totalling into the five digit numbers around his bedroom, literal thousands of words with paragraphed definitions written on their backs. Every review tip that he had ever seen recommended in a textbook or by a teacher, he had tried or adapted to fit his study style. And then it had evolved: using other sources to further what the textbook said. Learning in detail things which would never be on the test because they had never been taught in class. He knew that he was doing too much — had been told by numerous _teachers_ that he was studying too hard — but he couldn't break the habit. Every time he tried, he could see that red frown inside the zero. Jackson Overland needed to succeed.

School had ended thirty minutes ago, and the hallways were empty. It was a Wednesday, and only a few of the other tables in the library were populated, and even then by only one or two students. It was quiet, and calm, and Jackson felt at peace and surrounded by his element. When Jackson yelped a moment later, the other faces looked up at him.

He hadn't heard the footsteps behind him or felt the other boy's presence. The hand on his shoulder had come out of nowhere and without warning.

"Yikes," Hiccup whispered in shock, recoiling his hand as though Jackson's shoulder were a lit stovetop as the boy yelped loudly, whipping around at breakneck speed.

"Harald," he breathed, trying to process the present scene in his head quickly.

"I had no idea I'd freak you out like that, or I would've come around front."

"What are you doing here?" Jackson asked, realising it had sounded more like an accusative hiss than it had a question one would ask a friend.

"I'm usually here after school," Hiccup replied with a shrug.

"Here?"

"Well, I mean, 'here' as in 'at school'," he clarified. "Usually it's in the hallways or with my friends."

The memory of Hiccup approaching Jackson from the lockerbay came back to him. "Oh," he said plainly.

"Yeah. But I saw you from the hallway working, so I, uh... thought that I'd come over to say hi." Hiccup was fidgeting on his right leg, bobbing slightly as he seemed to constantly change his mind as to whether he should bend at the knee or not. Jackson noticed that Hiccup was clamping his hand around one of the straps of his backpack. Normally he had the pack slung over his shoulder, and the boy looked strangely innocent (and wildly different) with the backpack on his back properly.

"H-hey," Jackson said dumbly. This wasn't a conversation, he didn't have anything to say; he had been so focused on his work that needing to interact with another person socially was proving challenging.

The two boys remained where they were, awkward tension filling the air the longer the silence remained. Hiccup parted his lips once, appearing as though he were about to speak, but sealed them again without a sound, lip ring disappearing momentarily. He remained swaying where he stood for a few moments, Jackson's eyes still on him.

"Well, I guess I just wanted to say hi," he said, suddenly looking crestfallen. "I'll see you tomorrow for lunch." And with that he turned around, walking towards the door he had probably come in from. Jackson watched as he left, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy's somewhat strange departure.

Hiccup was halfway to the exit before he paused, leg still jittering and shoulders tensing and releasing, before he took a big breath and let his head rock back slightly. From this distance, Jackson could hear the loud exhale of breath before Hiccup rightened his head, nodded in determination, and turned back towards him. His eyes widened when he saw Jackson still watching him, and he looked almost nervous as he approached Jackson again. When he was close enough, Jackson noticed that there was a pink flush on the boy's cheek.

"Actually, I, uh," he said, stammering before he swallowed and regained composure of himself. "Actually, I saw you working in here by yourself, and everyone else went home a while ago, and so I was wondering if I'd... if you'd let me join you."

"O-oh," Jackson responded, feeling his own face warm slightly under the pressure of the situation. "Uh... yeah. Sure," he motioned to the chair at the other side of the table. "But — uh — I'm studying for a test, so we won't be able to talk. Is that alright?"

Hiccup smiled, the same toothy smile that Jackson had been seeing a lot of recently, and Jackson was beginning to wonder if the other boy couldn't control it. He nodded strongly as he moved around the table. "Yeah, that's fine. I was just going to work on my homework. Maybe finally finish them early, like you." Jackson watched as he unzipped his backpack, pulling out a thick textbook wrapped in brown paper and a notebook, leafing through both to the right pages. Jackson bent his head down over his notebook and began to read again.

It was different, trying to study with someone else present. He hadn't needed to do so for a long time; since before Merida had moved away. Then, it had been simple enough. Jackson and Merida would sit together, mostly quiet — sometimes with their backs pressed together, sometimes sprawled out on the floor of Jackson's room. Occasionally they would speak, but for the most part the two of them had been quiet people, focusing on the work in front of them. For all of her wildness, Merida was driven and focused, and she took her studies the same way that Jackson did. Not to the degree of it, but at least with the seriousness. That was one of the reasons they had worked so well.

Studying with Hiccup, however, was completely different. Neither boy talked but it seemed that, by nature, Hiccup was just a noisy person. Not intentionally so, and not disruptively so. But the boy's leg would jitter underneath the table, bouncing up and down and the table humming ever so slightly with the movement. Or the boy would mumble something softly — imperceptibly — and Jackson would glance up, realising that Hiccup likely had no idea he was even speaking. The scratching of the other boy's pencil against the paper was distinctive and continuous, and Jackson learned that Hiccup was one of the ones who chewed at his eraser. But it didn't seem like the other boy was struggling, fidgeting because he was backed into a corner academically with his homework. Jackson could eye the other boy's paper without needing to raise his head, and he would watch as the writing utensil danced along the paper, maths equations printing on the paper in brilliant, reflective silver at a steady pace. Once, when Jackson raised his head, it took Hiccup a moment to look up as well, but his eyes were distant, his mind busy.

It wasn't impossible to study with him, but it _was_ different. Jackson found that he wasn't making as much progress as he would have were he alone, though he was still filling up pages in his notebook. The first hour ticked by, Hiccup finishing his maths homework and replacing it with biology, Jackson getting up to roam the 940 section of the library. The next two hours followed suit, with Jackson retrieving more and more books; some were small, some were large. But they were beginning to pile up around him in a small fort, and when Jackson returned with what he (assumed) to be books ten through twelve, Hiccup was watching him approach with an amused smile on his face. Jackson said nothing, but he coloured in embarrassment.

No, it had started uncomfortably, Jackson feeling watched and the pressure of being around Hiccup, but the hours passed and the feeling subsided, giving way to calm companionship. Even when Hiccup changed to reading a book (presumably for English) and remained upright, Jackson didn't feel himself under watch — or at least, he didn't feel uncomfortable. By the time the school library closed at 5:30, he was feeling at home in the library as he always did and, to a degree, he had forgotten Hiccup was even there.

Jackson returned seven of the sixteen books he had amassed, but the rest were in a tall stack that he lugged to the circular checkout counter. Handing over his student ID, the librarian began scanning the books, peering up at him with what almost looked like stern disapproval when she was done; there wasn't a limit on the number of books one could have checked out of the school library, but Jackson supposed he probably had more books out now than the lady would have preferred. Picking up the books and the lengthy receipt, Jackson bent slightly under the weight of the rentals.

"Do you want any help with that?" Hiccup asked. He'd been standing behind Jackson, assuring him that he wasn't being held up and that he could wait, since they were both leaving anyways.

"Nah, I got it. It's not too different from work, to be honest."

"Oh yeah, that's right — you work at the library." The two were making progress down the mostly deserted hallway; the only other people in the hallway were the two other students who had stayed until the closing of the library. Even most of the teachers had left, and the English wing was dark as they passed it.

Jackson dropped the books into one of the chairs in the lobby, depositing himself in the chair adjacent. He slumped into it without taking his backpack off, but watching Hiccup set his down and then settle comfortably into one of the chairs across from him looked infinitely more comfortable. Johanna wouldn't be more than a few minutes, though; she was always really good about picking Jackson up when he stayed until the library closed, since her job ended at 5:00 and she worked 25 minutes from the school. Sometimes she would be waiting for him when he got out, but when she wasn't, it often meant that she was picking up food to give her son. Jackson desperately hoped this was the case — he hadn't eaten in nearly seven hours now. Maybe she'd be bringing McDonalds. McDonalds sounded really good right now.

"Ah man, I can't understand how you're able to go home and do your homework right after school every day. I 'bout nears cried from the boredom of it — talk about torture."

"It's really not that bad, when you get used to it," Jackson shrugged. "Plus, now you've got the whole rest of the night to yourself."

"True," Hiccup acknowledged, and the two fell into silence. There were only the two other students waiting alongside them in the lobby, and when a car pulled up and a girl left to walk to it, Hiccup started abruptly.

"Oh. I should probably call my dad and let him know to pick me up."

"You didn't tell him already?" Jackson asked, wide-eyed and incredulous. It was almost 5:45 in the evening, and Hiccup had no plan for getting home.

"I kinda forgot," Hiccup said, fishing the phone out of his pocket.

"Well _obviously_ ," Jackson replied. Hiccup made a face of surprise and mock disgust, before toying with the device in his hands. A few seconds later and he was pressing the phone to his ear. A few seconds elapsed while the call connected.

"Hei pappa? Jeg er fortsatt på skole."

Jackson's eyes went wide. He hadn't been expecting that, and it caught him offguard. Jackson had just assumed that Hiccup spoke... English.

"Nei, jeg fikk ikke gjensitting. Jeg bodde etter å gjøre lekser med en venn."

Apparently, Hiccup was bilingual.

" _Ja_ pappa— pappa— far—" Hiccup rolled his eyes, the first time he had actually looked at Jackson. "Pappa— kan du komme til skolen for å plukke meg opp? — Nei, jeg er ikke her med Astrid. — Du kjenner ham ikke, pappa. Ny venn. — Akkurat nå. Jeg er alt ferdig, og jeg ønsker å dra hjem nå. — Okay. — Alright, ja. — Okay, jeg venter her, da. — Bye." He hung up the phone, letting out a grunt of dissatisfaction before slinking down in his chair.

"So... what did he say?"

"Oh. He'll be here in a bit," Hiccup shrugged slightly. "He's still at work so he wasn't thrilled about leaving early, but he doesn't really have much of a choice, does he? It's not like I can drive myself home yet — which is dumb." It fell silent again, as Jackson tried to find the words he wanted to ask.

"So, you speak...?"

"Huh—? Oh. Norwegian. At home, at least. My family's from Norway, so we're pretty new here. They both speak English pretty well, but it's all Norwegian with the family."

"Oh," Jackson said with a bit of understanding. That explained why his name sounded foreign — because it _was_ foreign. Suddenly, he felt really stupid. "So.. were you born here? Or in Norway? Or.."

"I was born in Norway, but I grew up here; we moved when I was _really_ young, like five, six months. So I'm not really a US citizen, but I'm basically American."

"That's.. really cool. I had no idea."

"It's kind of just something that _is_ , so I don't really think about it ever," he shrugged again. "I've had most of my friends since I was young, so nobody really pays any attention to it anymore."

Another car pulled up outside, and Jackson recognised the brown-haired woman sitting in the front seat waving at him. He waved back, Hiccup craning his neck to look out the window.

"Your mom?" he asked.

"Yeah. Gotta head out," Jackson said, gathering his new books up in his arms, somehow having forgotten just how much they weighed. It was all in that blue book second from the bottom that should not have weighed as much as it actually did. Hiccup looked up at him with the same enthusiasm he always looked at Jackson with.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said with a smile.

It was like dealing with a puppy.

"Yeah. I'll talk with you later," he said, nodding his head in goodbye.

Jackson struggled opening the door to the car, balancing the books on one leg and praying that they didn't fall to the side. "I hope you weren't waiting long," Johanna said once he had tossed his books in the backseat irreverently. Books were strong; they didn't need to be handled delicately.

"Probably seven, ten minutes or so," he said, sitting down in the front seat. He stared happily at the bag of McDonalds that was sitting for him between the seats, and he retrieved a French fry with satisfaction. This wasn't an uncommon tradition, but he still enjoyed it every time. "But that's fine. I was waiting with someone."

"Jamie?" his mother asked as she shifted the car into drive.

"Nah," Jackson replied, two fries headed towards his mouth. "Another friend." _Satisfaction_ with a sprinkling of salt. "You don't know him."

Johanna pulled along the circular driveway, driving towards the bus exit. Jackson caught the rear-view mirror just in time to see a hand waving in his direction from the lobby.

An all-black, pierced, rather intimidating-looking, _Norwegian_ puppy.

But still a puppy.


End file.
